


A Supernatural Holiday Mystery

by Anilkex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-24 15:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13813620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anilkex/pseuds/Anilkex
Summary: The boys are on a hunt in Noel, Missouri when something bizarre happens. They need to solve the case, deal with an odd curse, and maybe figure out how to be brothers again in the process. A very ridiculous H/C/Sickfic story. Emphasis on ridiculous. Story is complete. Posting in bits due to length.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Was in a bit of a writer's slump. This prompt was presented 1-2 years ago...I just didn't have an idea for it. Until over winter break. There are 5 sections. I'm checking each before posting, and will post one section every 2-3 days. Don't look too closely at the case. Seriously. Please. It's pure silliness.

 

* * *

With a weariness that wasn't just from a lack of sleep, Dean plopped a couple energy drinks and random candy bars on the counter.

"Hey...lookit this."

He lolled his head to the right, spying Sam holding up a newspaper. The words sounded innocent enough, but Dean could see the bitchy jaw clench that came with them.

_Killer Snowman Strikes Again_

Green eyes crawled up to hazel ones, his eyebrows following.

Sam blew out a breath. "Don't you think we should check this out?" He flipped the paper around, reading out loud. "A third victim was found last night, severed in half by a sliding glass door." Sam paused, jabbing a finger at the paper. "Three vics. And it's only about two hours from here, in Noel, Missouri."

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face.

Frustrated at hour three of Dean's silent treatment, Sam flung the paper at him. "Fine," he spat. "But kids are finding the victims every time. You let me know what you want to do." And with that, he turned on his heels and stomped out of the mini-mart.

With a sigh, Dean glanced at the paper. All three victims had young children, who ended up discovering their parent's dead bodies.

_Fuck_.

The woman behind the counter clucked her tongue. "You alright?"

Dean snorted, tossing the paper on top of the food while reaching for his wallet. "Yeah. My brother and I've just been on the road too long."

She made a silent "Ahhhh…", and began to ring up his purchase. "Any...plans for Christmas?"

Dean nudged the paper with his hand. "Apparently, we're going to Noel, Missouri." At the clerk's raised eyebrows, he added, "We're reporters. Stories like this are what we investigate."

"So, no holiday plans? Just...work?"

"That's pretty much all we do, these days. And even that's getting harder." Normally, Dean was all for nonstop hunting. But lately, their relationship was so strained, that working was not only difficult, it was painful. He blinked at the unplanned sharing, feeling his cheeks go red.

"Maybe you two just need to reconnect. Relearn how to just...be there for eachother."

Money exchanged, items were bagged, and Dean barked a laugh at the idea of he and Sam  _reconnecting_. "Yeah...I don't think that's in the cards. Thanks." He picked up his bags and left the store.

**xxxxx**

The drive in the Impala was silent. No music, no discussion of the case, no discussion  _period_.

Just...

_Well_.

There  _was_  the crunching of M&Ms in Dean's mouth, which was slowly driving Sam insane. He couldn't take Dean's silent treatment, not while they were trapped together in the car and he refused to put on any music, leaving him with sounds of chewing and lip smacking and  _Jesus_ , this was stupid. He knew Dean was sloppy eating on purpose.

Sam glanced at his watch. One hour to go.

_Awesome_.

**xxxxx**

It was not a small sigh of relief that escaped Sam's mouth as they pulled into the motel parking lot. They grabbed their bags in silence and went inside. The place looked kind of dumpy on the outside, but was clean and charming on the inside.

Both brothers hefted their bags further up their shoulders as Dean rang a little bell on the front desk.

A man older than dirt shuffled out of a back room, flapping a hand at them. "I hear ya. How can I help you?"

Dean cleared his throat. "One room, two beds. Queen size if you got 'em."

The clerk pulled out an impossibly large book, dropping it onto the counter. A cloud of dust rose into the air, floating effortlessly right into Dean's face.

In one fluid motion, Dean stepped back, sneezing forcefully against his shoulder. He paused, rubbed his face on his sleeve, then continued to check in.

Sam took a step back as well, trying to avoid the dust. "Bless you," he murmured, realizing after the first syllable left his mouth that he wasn't supposed to be talking to Dean at all. Dean's eyes flickered his way, his head nodding a thank you.

**xxxxx**

The room was just as clean and cozy as the lobby. Again, not at all what Dean pictured when he pulled into the parking lot. He'll take it, though, especially at the price the old guy gave him. They could easily afford to stay here through the course of this case, which meant Dean didn't have to deal with emergency money scrounging on top of everything else.

Their room had a tiny kitchenette area, complete with one cabinet, a microwave, coffee pot and a mini-fridge. After dropping his bags on a bed, Dean spun slowly, taking in the actually nice room. Holy shit - there was even a bookcase, with  _real books_.

He was about to say something to Sam, and even got as far as, "Hey S-", before remembering that  _he_   _wasn't talking to Sam_   _today_.

But Sam heard him. "What?" he asked, dropping his own bags on a bed. It was small and wispy, barely a dust cloud. But from his angle, with the light positioned where it was, Dean saw it rise from the bed up to Sam, whose face crinkled up after his first sniff.

Dean opened his mouth to issue a warning, but it was too late. Sam pressed the top of his hand against his nose. His stance shifted from one leg to the other. Eyelids fluttered closed. Breaths became slightly ragged.

" _Hhhhh'ETSCHHH! H'ETSCHHH!_ " He blinked rapidly, waving his hand in front of his face.

Without thinking, Dean moved Sam's bags, snatched the comforter, and shook it outside. It wasn't until he was mid blanket-flapping that he remembered  _he wasn't supposed to be talking to Sam at all_. Not for books or clouds of dust.

He sighed. Dean  _sucked_  at staying mad at Sam.

Embarrassed and pissed at himself, Dean returned the comforter.

Unsure how to respond, Sam lamely gestured at his bed. "Thanks for…"

Dean shrugged, sighing. "Let's get some sleep, then tomorrow we'll start tracking down Frosty."

**xxxxx**

Dean woke with a feeling that he slept longer than he should have. Sure enough, sunlight streamed through a crack in the curtains, pushing past squinting eyes. Dean turned to block it, but instead of moving away, he tilted his head just enough to catch the beam straight on.

The trigger was instantaneous - no build-up, no irritation.

" _EHH-TSHHCHUH! Hiihhh-t'SHHUH!"_

He buried them in the blanket, breathless and confused. The sneezing took him by surprise, and it was a little too soon after waking to be that surprised.

"Whoa - bless you! You okay?"

Dean sniffed experimentally before slowly lowering the blanket off his face. "Yeah...I dunno what made me sneeze, but  _Jesus…_ " He sniffled again, rubbing his nose on the rough fabric. "Why didn't you wake me?"

Sam walked into view, shrugging as he sat on his bed. "You seemed...really tired last night, so I figured you needed a couple more hours. Hey, I did a little research on this killer snowman thing." He got back up, quickly retrieving his laptop from the table before Dean got snippy over Sam being considerate.

Surprisingly, Dean wasn't snippy at all.

Returning with the computer, Sam clicked a few keys on the keyboard before sitting down. He spun the screen so it faced Dean. "So. Apparently, the first victim was discovered almost two weeks ago, a guy named Mike Baron." Dean hoisted himself on his elbow so he could see the screen, nodding for Sam to continue. And continue he did. "Seems that Mike was found dead in his kitchen...with a carrot sticking out of one eye socket."

Dean's head retreated. "I'm sorry, come again?"

Sam nodded, turning the laptop back around. "You heard me."

Dean considered this. "I knew carrots weren't really good for your eyes."

" _Ha_. At least not in this case. No sign of a forced entry, no suspects. The guy was a loving father and husband, coached youth basketball, and walked his dog twice a day."

"Fantastic." Dean threw back the covers and stretched. "So something funky wunky's definitely going on."

Sam arched an eyebrow. "Funky wunky?"

"Yup. Trademarked. Alright...lemme get dressed, then we can grab some food and you can tell me about the other two victims."

As Dean pulled clothes out of his bag, he rationalized...he wasn't talking to Sam  _yesterday_.  _Today_  was...different.

Fully clothed and ready to go, they stepped outside. Noel, Missouri was a brisk thirty-five degrees, but the sky was clear and bright. Normally cold temperatures meant cloudy skies and a threat of snow. But today was... _different_.

Sam glanced up to see if  _any_  clouds were in the sky. They were working a case, and things between him and Dean weren't exactly fabulous. Still, Sam kinda hoped for some snow at Christmas. It just sounded peaceful. And he needed peaceful.

He swiveled to catch sight of the sky over the motel roof, when the sun's reflection off the obnoxious rooster-shaped weather vane jabbed him right in the eyes.

His lungs filled.

" _ITSCHCHH-ETSHHCHH-TSCHCHHH!"_  The force of it all knocked him back a couple steps into Dean, who was checking to make sure the door was locked. He stepped to the side so Sam's back thumped against the door. Sam's face was in the crook of his elbow, his eyes clenched shut.

"Jesus, Sam, what happened?"

It took Sam a few seconds to catch his breath. "I dunno...just sneezed... _really_  hard." Slowly, he lowered his arm, sniffling to make sure he was done. He blinked a few times. "Okay, I'm...okay." He flashed a quick smile at Dean before pushing himself off the door. "Anyway. Victim number two...:"

**xxxxx**

A few hours later, the brothers strolled into the sheriff's department, wearing their federal agent suits. After flashing their badges, they were sitting across the desk of a stereotypical southern sheriff - big hat, white hair, handlebar mustache. He leaned back in his chair, which creaked in protest.

"I dunno why you fellers are here. These kids have Christmas on the brain. That's why they're claimin' a snowman killed their mama or daddy."

Dean shot Sam a look.  _This guy is straight off a TV western._  The corner of Sam's mouth twitched in agreement. "Listen Sheriff Bryant, all that matters is that we  _are_  here, and we consider this an open, active case. So again, we'd like all your information for all three vics."

The sheriff shrugged, rolling his chair back so he had room to stand. "You got it. Be right back." He sauntered out of his office, speaking in a low voice to another officer.

Dead pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is gonna take forever."

"Yuuuup," Sam agreed, tapping his fingers on his knee. He spied the sheriff's computer monitor, an old fifteen inch box-shaped screen that reminded him of tube televisions, almost completely buried under a mound of papers. He nudged Dean's knee. "Is that the computer?"

Dean's eyes swung over. "Shit."

The sheriff returned carrying technically three files, one for each victim. However, each file was over 2 inches thick. He walked to his desk and dropped the stack, scattering papers, random writing utensils, and disrupting a fine layer of dust hidden beneath it all.

"There you go. I'll be just out here if you need me." And with that, he turned and walked out.

Dean watched him leave, murmuring, "Of course we end up in a small town that can't even use a computer to keep track of all the people being murdered." Realizing that may have sounded like a complaint when he didn't want it to sound like a complaint, he quickly turned toward Sam. "Not that it matters, I'm just saying…"

Sam wasn't listening. Instead, he was furiously scrubbing his nose, face pinched in agony, his mouth slightly open.

"...Sam?"

Sam shook his head, holding up a hand signalling for Dean to just wait a minute. "I…" Sam belted out sneeze after sneeze. Dean scrambled for his bandana, thrusting it into Sam's hand in time for a couple more.

Sam blew his nose into the bandana (didn't see Dean grimace...but come on, what did he think would happen?), slumped back in his chair and sniffled. "Wow." He wiped his eyes with a dry corner and blearily looked over at Dean. "Hi."

Dean's eyebrow rose. "Hi." He gestured at the papers. "You ready to tackle this?"

Sam sniffed once more. "Yup."

**xxxxx**

It took an hour to go through all the papers and piece together a complete picture of what happened, beyond the research Sam had already done.

Second victim was Stacy Carnes, strangled by a knitted scarf on her patio. Third victim was Mark Theron, dead by smoke inhalation from several smoldering pieces of coal.

All three deaths were discovered by sleepy children in the middle of the night.

"So here's my question. Why were all three kids awake at two or three in the morning? Why were they wandering their houses at the time of each death?" Sam asked, leg bouncing as he continued to flip through pages.

Dean shook his head, taking a sip of now cold, crappy coffee. "Dunno. We may need to talk with them." He grimaced at the cup, setting it back on the sheriff's desk. "And I'm  _not_  looking forward to that."

Sam nodded in agreement.

"Y'all wanna see the security footage?"

Both brothers froze a second before levelling a frosty gaze at the sheriff, leaning on the door frame.

"Footage. As in...video." Dean's tone was flat, indicating he was two seconds away from ripping the mustache off the man's face.

The sheriff sipped his own cup of coffee. "Yup. The first victim, Baron, had one of them home security systems. We can connect to it." Another sip.

Dean swiveled in his chair. "Are you guys even trying to solve this case?"

Sam interjected when the sheriff's eyebrows disappeared under his hat. "What my partner means, is that yes, we'd like to see the footage. And if there's any evidence more…", he flapped some papers, "modern, we would appreciate knowing about it."

"Oh," the sheriff replied, nodding his head. "So the baby monitor recording would help?"

Sam heard the low growl in Dean's throat, and for a second, contemplated letting Dean loose. "Yes, that would be great."

The sheriff took another long pull of coffee before stepping back into the office. He moved the pile of papers off his monitor and blew a layer of dust off the screen, right into Dean's face.

"Hey!" Dean barked, wiping it off his suit and tie.

"Ohhhh, sorry about that. Haven't fired her up in a while."

Dean flashed an irritated look at Sam.  _I can't take much more of this._

Sam returned the look, but it went unnoticed.

" _Mphphphew!_ " Dean muffled a sneeze into the crook of his arm. " _H'iiihhhhhh-hgnxnxt!_ " He stifled the second, his face darkening as he fumbled for his bandana. Remembering why he couldn't find it (Thanks, Sam), he leaned over the side of the chair and belted one last sneeze out, ending with a small sniffle.

The sheriff produced a box of tissues, handing it across the desk. "Wow. Bless you."

Dean snatched the box and blew his nose.

Sam sat back in his chair, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. Something felt off. He just wasn't sure what. Yet.

**xxxxx**

_**2:00 am** _

Sam lie in bed, thinking.

The video footage showed Mike Baron creeping past the camera, like he was looking for something. Once he left the camera's scope, they never saw him again. But Sam caught sight of the window in the background. In the window was definitely a snowman, peering inside, complete with a carrot nose. It didn't move, but it was clearly there.

Fuckin' creepy.

The baby monitor caught the sound of Stacy Carnes, victim number two, being strangled. From what they could hear, she struggled for a couple minutes. Nothing snowman related was on that tape. But they were treated with the sounds of her daughter finding the body.

Sighing, Sam laced his fingers behind his head. He knew they'd have to talk to the kids and find out what they saw and heard. Those conversations are one of the worst aspects of hunting. He allowed himself another sigh.

A car door slammed shut just outside their room, the sound of giggling filtering past the thin walls. Mentally Sam rolled his eyes. That had to be what Dean sounded like when he returned from a bar with company.

Sam turned toward the window, his inner gossipy-Dean hoping he could catch a glimpse of the couple through the sliver of open curtain.

Instead, the car started up, and bright headlights suddenly burst through the curtain opening.

" _TSCHCHCHhh-ew!_ " The sneeze caught him by surprise, in more ways than one. It's then that he realizes just how much he'd sneezed in the last couple days. More than he had in months. Which was weird, and while part of him felt it was coincidental, part of him knew better.

Because okay, if it was just him doing more sneezing than normal, he'd just assume he was coming down with something in addition to being exposed to irritants.

But  _both_  of them? Not likely.

_Fuck._

By 6:00 am, Sam had a plan within a plan. Continue the case, but monitor this sneezing thing, and no telling Dean until he was sure. The last thing he needed was Dean making fun of him over sneezing coupled with his denial of any sneezing going on at all. The last couple days had been  _way_  more tolerable than the last few weeks, and Sam was all in favor of  _not_  upsetting that.

**xxxxx**

Dean woke feeling...actually, pretty good. Which was weird, because he rarely felt good. Especially after listening to small children sob over their mother's dead body.

He lie in bed, listening to his brother's breathing, enjoying the quiet. He liked those moments - when everything else slept so he could decompress without worrying about dodging fangs or claws or sharp-tongued barbs from pissy little brothers.

Speaking of which...Dean stole a glance at Sam. There'd been a notable absence of barbs lately. But Dean's got a theory on that. Sam had been sneezing a little more than normal, which was... _nil_. Kid was probably coming down with something. The non stop running around and stress from... _life_...caught up with him.

For sure.

Dean decided to monitor Sam a little more closely and see what's what before the inevitable collapse.

Unfortunately, moments like this only lasted a short while before a bladder angrily demanded attention,  _tout suite_. The room was still pitch black, thanks to the room darkening curtains. Not wanting to disturb Sam, Dean carefully extracted himself from the blankets, making as little noise as possible. He hightailed it to the bathroom, marking the toilet's location before closing the door behind him and taking care of business.

Once he finished (with a congratulatory pat on the back for peeing in the dark like the champ he was), Dean promptly knocked over a toiletry kit, scattering items across the sink, and ooh, at least one thing fell to the floor. So much for that pat on the back.

Silently grumbling, Dean flipped the light switch, momentarily blinded by the sharp light.

He felt it then - a careful tickle just beyond his reach. Bathroom items forgotten, Dean leaned against the sink, one eye pinched shut, wriggling his nose to make the sensation go away. His voice rose in pitch with each breath in, until, " _HpTSCHSCHCHHH! Heh-TSCHCHuH!"_

Dean reached for some toilet paper, blinking back tears. That's when it hit him.

_Dean's_  been sneezing more in the last couple days than normal. Which was also... _nil_.

_Fuck_.

He wiped his nose, staring into the mirror for signs of a fever. Nope. At least, not yet. He sniffed and looked a little closer. Just the same handsome devil he always was.

_Great_ , he thought, shoving shaving supplies back into the toiletry bag. Now, he needed to watch  _both_  of them for the inevitable collapse.

**xxxxx**

Sam's eyes snapped open when the sound of several plastic items skittered in the sink and on the floor. A small smile played on his lips. The dork peed in the dark again. He just knew it.

With a sigh, Sam rolled over, intent on enjoying another ninety seconds of stillness.

From the bathroom, the sound of Dean sneezing filled the air.

Sam's eyes snapped open once again, trying to determine if he imagined Dean sneezing or if it really happened. Now that he planned on paying more attention, he wouldn't be surprised if everything and anything sounded like sneezing. He needed to see it, know what caused it, watch reactions.

Yeah, nothing ridiculous about that at all.

The door opened, and out walked Dean, looking completely normal. Nothing...funky wunky about him. Aside from the usual, that is.

"Hey," Sam said, throwing off the blankets and sitting up. He went for casual. "Was...that you sneezing in there?"

Dean's eyes flickered to Sam before he headed to his duffel. Not wanting to draw attention to the possibility of being sick, Dean shrugged it off. "Yeah, why?" He rooted around his bag for clean clothes, pointedly not looking at Sam. Dean was watching Sam today - it wasn't supposed to be the other way around.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Just...bless you. That's all." He flashed a grin and began the hunt for his own clean clothes.

Both brothers thought to themselves, making it awkward and weird didn't help the truce they'd been enjoying. Focus on the case.

Dean cleared his throat. "Okay, so we're gonna deal with the morgue and hopefully the kids, right?"

Sam nodded, pausing his clothes hunt. "Which one first? Suits or casual?"

Dean tapped his chin. "Morgue. I wanna know what the kids saw before talking to them."

Sam shrugged his eyebrows back. "Suits it is."

They dressed in relative silence, simultaneously trying to appear casual while watching each other.

Dean put the finishing touches on his tie. "Ready?"

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah."

Dean grabbed the car keys and the bag that held their dinner the night before. Neither brother finished their food - the leftovers were in the fridge. But the bag still held condiment packets and three extra sporks. He tossed it to Sam. "Here - throw that in the trash outside while I get the car started. Weather looks cold today."

Sam held out his hands to catch the bag. "Okay."

The bag was casually thrown over Dean's shoulder, and drifted a little to the right of Sam. He reached out to grab it, his hand slipping a little on the plastic. To compensate, he tightened his grip, resulting in both hands squeezing the bag much harder than necessary. A poof of powder burst from the bag, covering Sam. He yelped in surprise, reflexively swatting at the air.

A sharp burn filled his nose. Without thinking, Sam sniffled to make it go away.

Wrong choice.

Sam pitched forward, unable to stop sneezing. " _Goddabbit! What the fuck!"_

In two steps, Dean was at Sam's side, grabbing the bag. Several packets of pepper lie open at the bottom of the bag, their contents currently all over Sam. Dean directed Sam toward the bathroom. "Wash your face - you just popped seventeen pepper packets." He blinked at the verselike statement.

Sam caught his breath, wiping his face with a washcloth and a shaky hand. He stared at himself in the mirror. Okay...that was definitely funky wunky, right? When had he ever burst pepper packets like that?

Still...well. Pepper made people sneeze, right? There wasn't anything weird about that. He dried his hands on a towel, scrubbing it over his face. His eyes were a little red from the fit, as was his nose, but that was normal, right?

By the time he left the bathroom, Dean had thrown the offending bag in the garbage outside. Pepper sneezing wasn't sick sneezing, so Dean chalked this up to one of the goofy things Sam did sometimes.

"Let's go, Hulk."

"Ha-ha."

**xxxxx**

"So...this town's so small the sheriff doesn't even use his computer, but they have their own morgue?"

Dean flicked his keys before pocketing them. "Don't question it. Just be glad we have local access to the bodies."

Sam checked his reflection in the rear view mirror before getting out. His eyes and nose were back to their normal color - no sign of the massive sneezing fit from earlier.

"Yes, you're gorgeous. Now come  _on_."

Sam glared at Dean as he exited the Impala. "You're on a roll today."

Dean held open the door for Sam, waggling his eyebrows. "I'm on a roll  _every_  day. Try not to kill anyone by shaking their hand." Without waiting for an response, Dean strode up to the receptionist. "Hi there." He flashed his badge, not even checking to see if Sam flashed his. "We're here to see the bodies of the recent Snowman killings." He smiled to lessen the blow of  _killer snowmen._

The woman sighed. "So sad. Those poor children. Conjurin' up stories about snowmen to help them cope."

She sighed again. Dean nodded in sympathy, glancing sideways at Sam.

_Conjurin' my ass.._

The nice lady pointed down a side hallway. "End of this hallway, then down the staircase to your left. You'll find Maurice in the second office on your right. Good luck, gentlemen!"

Dean offered a sloppy salute, beckoned for Sam to follow, then headed down the hallway.

Sam wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed or endeared.

They followed the directions to the door of Maurice, the mortician with a sense of humor. His office door was plastered with bumper stickers like "I Heart Autopsies" and "My Best Friend Is Your Corpse".

Dean took one look at the door and rolled his eyes. Sam shook his head.  _Small towns, man._ Dean snorted back.

Sam knocked on the door, just as a shaggy head poked into the hallway a few doors down. "Can I help ya?"

"Uh, yes. We're looking for Maurice."

The man's shaggy eyebrows knitted together. "Who's askin'?"

Dean strolled closer, holding out his badge. "We are. We'd like to ask some questions about the recent deaths, and maybe take a peek at the bodies."

"Well, everything here is a recent death. You gotta be more specific."

Dean pressed his lips together.  _Of course_. "The snowman deaths?"

Maurice fully stepped into the hallway. "Oh! You mean the murders. Yeah, come on in." He waved the brothers inside what turned out to be a rudimentary lab. One examination table sat in the middle of the room, a couple stools on wheels nearby, and a small tray with various tools sat on the counter.

Sam gestured at the three metal square doors lined up on one wall. "Is that where they are?"

"Where who are?"

"The bodies," Dean grated. "Look, what's going on? How is it that no one seems concerned that three people turned up dead in the last couple weeks?"

Maurice didn't seem phased by the curt tone. He just shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe because people die all the time?"

Dean took a measured breath, stepping back so Sam could take over.  _I'm out,_  his eyes said, and he walked to examine rows of jars and canisters lining a shelf in the corner.

Sam huffed in understanding. "What we mean is, the kids all seem to think their parents were killed by snowmen. Was there any...evidence to support that?"

Maurice just stared at him. "You think a snowman killed those people?"

Sam shook his head. "No...no, of course not. But that's what the kids think happened...they must have seen something. And video footage showed a snowman near Mr. Baron's body. Maybe...maybe it was someone dressed as a snowman or something."

Dean snorted.

Sam ignored him.

Maurice and Sam continued to chat about the bodies - the condition they were in, evidence found on them, etc. Dean began eyeballing all the weird shit Maurice kept in little jars. He couldn't even figure out what it was. One held a long object, orange and wrinkly. Another had a couple black hunks of...something.

Each jar luckily had a label. Dean brushed some dust off the tops. "Sh _iiii- hiiiihhhhhh_ ' _hgnxt!"_

Suddenly, Sam was there (Why was he there?) taking the jar out of his hands as Dean twisted to the side and sneezed a double.

"You okay?" His hand was on Dean's back. Dean was touched by the concern, then  _concerned_  by his concern.

No concern for Dean.

"Yeah - jars were dusty. That's all."

Sam patted Dean's back in sympathy.

"Y'all are adorable. We don't get much folks like you around here."

They froze. Sam swallowed, removing his hand. "Uh…"

Dean elbowed him.  _Just...get the info._

**xxxxx**

Checking over the bodies and extracting information from Maurice ended up taking all morning. Neither brother knew where the time went, just that it passed faster than anticipated.

Exhausted from dealing with Maurice, they decided to change, grab lunch, debrief, then try to talk to at least one of the children.

The diner was mostly empty by the time they arrived, so their food was ready quickly. Bags in hand, then headed back to the car. Dean snapped his fingers. "Ketchup! Get in the car - I'll be right back."

He turned to go back inside, not seeing another customer leaving his booth, near the door. Dean bumped right into him. The man, holding a pepper shaker, jerked his arm at the unexpected contact, flinging pepper into the air.

Dean recoiled, " _HITSCHCH-uhhh!"_

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" The man stammered, trying to brush the granules off Dean while waving his hand in the air as if to clear the offending substance from Dean's senses.

"'S'okay…" Dean stammered, grabbing a handful of ketchup packets conveniently sitting on a counter. He was still sneezing when he left the restaurant and got back into the Impala.

Sam's eyes widened, "What the hell happened?"

Dean pressed his bandana to his nose. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I would. Let's get back to the motel. We have to talk."

**xxxxx**

Sam said nothing all the way back to the motel. He just stared out the window, gnawing on a fingernail, eyes lost in thought. The only sound was an occasional sniffle from Dean.

In the room, they took out their food in silence, until Dean couldn't take it anymore.

"Okay, Sam - what're we talking about first?"

Before Dean's ass hit the chair, Sam started. "I think we're cursed."

He blinked up at Sam, who was pacing instead of unwrapping his lunch. Dean figured he could unwrap and think at the same time, so he opened his container and started ripping ketchup packets. "You think we're cursed? Why?"

Sam leaned on the back of his chair. "Haven't you found it odd that we've been sneezing a lot lately?"

Dean paused mid-rip to lick stray ketchup off his fingers. "Yeah. Figured we were comin' down with something." He glanced up at Sam. "You think we're cursed because we're sneezin'?"

Hearing it out loud like that  _did_  sound a little ridiculous, and Sam faltered a bit. "Well...yeah."

Dean's eyebrows arched.

Sam blew out a breath and grabbed a notebook and pen. "Listen. Think about what's been going on...what's been making us sneeze."

Dean blinked again. "You're serious."

When Sam clicked the pen open and shot a bitchface across the table, Dean knew he wouldn't be eating until later. With a sigh, he closed the lid on his burger ( _Until later, sweetheart_ ), and played along.

But he felt stupid.

"Okay. This morning, uh, in the bathroom, I sneezed."

Sam nodded, writing it down. "Do you know why?"

"Why what?"

"Why you sneezed. What made you sneeze?"

Dean squirmed in his seat. "I dunno, Sam. I just sneezed."

But Sam was patient. "Think back to what happened."

"Fine. I went in the bathroom, took a piss, knocked some stuff into the sink, turned on the light, then sneezed."

Sam frowned. "That's it?"

Dean splayed his hands. "That's it. There wasn't anything in there that I breathed in or anything."

Sam stared at his notebook, tapping the pen against his mouth. "Okay...well...you had the dust on those canisters in Maurice's office...and the pepper in the diner, right?"

Dean balled up his napkin and set it on the table. "Yup." He rested his elbows on the table. "Your turn. You had your own pepper incident today."

Sam nodded, pointing the pen at him in agreement. "Yes! And I sneezed this morning in bed."

Dean frowned. "When?"

Sam scribbled notes as he explained. "I was in bed thinking about the case, when I sneezed a couple times."

"Was it from the dust on the blanket?"

"The what?"

"You know - when we first got here. You set off a bunch of dust from your bed when you put your bags on it."

Still a blank face.

Dean sighed. He could be patient, too. "I had to shake off your comforter outside, remember?"

"Shit - I forgot about that one." More scribbling. "No - at least, I don't think so? I dunno - I just remember car headlights shining through the window, then my nose itched."

Dean scratched his head. "Okay...what else?"

"That's it for today - the pepper then the sneezing in bed."

"So, what, now look at yesterday?"

"Yeah...what do you remember?"

Dean leaned back. "I woke up sneezing. The sun was shining through the curtains, and I remember thinking that you let me oversleep, then I sneezed."

Sam interrupted. "I sneezed when we left the room...I was checking the sky for clouds."

Dean's face scrunched up. "Since when does that make someone sneeze?"

Sam shrugged. "I dunno. After that was…"

"In that sheriff's office. There was dust on his desk that set you off, and he blew dust from his computer onto me, and that set me off."

Sam pointed his pen at Dean again. "I remember the blanket sneezing thing, now. You sneezed at the front desk when we first got here." He wrote that down, too.

Sam leaned back, frowning at the notebook.

"Okay, so what do we have?" Dean felt stupid at first, but the more they talked about it, the more obvious it became - they were sneezing way more than normal, and not one story sounded like either brother was getting sick.

Sam's gaze flickered toward Dean before reading off his list. "Well. The first day we started sneezing, we both sneezed from dust. You in the lobby and me in the room. On the second day we started sneezing, you sneezed in bed, I sneezed outside, we both sneezed from dust. On the third day, which is today, you sneezed in the bathroom, I sneezed in bed, we both sneezed from pepper, and you sneezed from dust."

The room fell silent.

Their eyes met.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "What about the random sneezing part?"

Sam stared at the notebook, then stood up and retrieved his laptop. "I don't think it was random. Hold on." He began searching for something, and a minute later, "Aha! Here it is: Photic Sneezing."

"Photo what?"

Sam spun the laptop around. "Photic sneezing. It's when bright lights make people sneeze."

"That can't be a real thing."

Sam turned the laptop again and started reading. "About 18-35% of the population has the condition. Looking at bright lights, particularly the sun, can trigger the sneezing reflex." He closed the laptop and began ticking off his fingers. "Think about it. Dark motel room...bright bathroom light...sneeze. Car headlights in a dark room, sneeze. Bright sunlight into a dark room or when I stepped out into it...sneeze."

"So we're photic sneezers, now?"

Sam tossed his pen onto the table and returned the laptop to the bed. "No clue. I just know that's what we're doing."

Dean thought for a few seconds. "So day one was dust. Day two was dust and this photic sneezing thing. Day three was dust, photic sneezing, and pepper...but...you haven't sneezed from dust today."

"You think that's the pattern?

Dean shrugged. "Maybe? You cracked this code, genius. I thought we were just getting sick. If you're right, then you're gonna sneeze from dust at some point."

"If I'm right, then tomorrow we'll be sneezing from four things - dust, light, pepper and…I dunno."

They stared at each other.

Mostly convinced, Dean still wasn't at one hundred percent. "If this is a curse, it's a stupid one."

"Agreed. But it's only 1:30 and all that's left to happen is me and dust. So it's not that bad."

Dean reopened his lunch container. "Yet."

Sam opened  _his_  lunch container, agreeing. "Yet."

**xxxxx**

_**Continued in the next chapter...** _


	2. Chapter 2

_**Part 2…** _

The rest of the afternoon, Dean did something he hadn't done in a while.

He hovered.

If Sam's theory was correct, Dean was done sneezing for the day. Sam still had one reaction to go.

So Dean hovered and guarded Sam like a watchdog.

Under normal circumstances, Sam would've been incredibly annoyed. But, Sam had to admit to himself, it warmed him to know that Dean still cared...that Dean would still go out of his way to keep his brother safe.

...Even though this was a curse, and curses didn't give a hooey about protective big brothers. The only one who wouldn't accept that, of course, was the protective big brother.

They went to Baron's house first, where the video footage showed the snowman in the window. But no one answered the door. Both hunters gave each other a look before casually strolling around back.

"There," Sam pointed. "That's the window the snowman was looking through."

They began examining the ground for clues of any kind. There was no dust outside, so Dean allowed Sam to stray more than three feet from his side. Which turned out to be a good thing, because Sam's the one who found a large, round, black button under some leaves by the fence.

"Hey, look at this." Sam held it up, looking for markings or symbols.

Dean trudged over, examining it. "Looks like a regular button...but it's weird that it's back here."

"Yeah, kind of an odd coincidence." Sam pocketed it, and together they made their way back to the Impala. "What do you think?" Sam asked when they reached the car.

Dean shook his head. "I dunno, Sam, all we have is a button. Let's try the next house."

Stacy Carnes' widower, Kurt, was home, and reluctantly agreed to let Dean talk to his daughter.

"This has been so...I don't even know how to describe it," Kurt said, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I can't believe it happened...I just...I don't understand."

Sam nodded sympathetically. "Was there anyone who'd want to hurt your wife? Not enough to...but maybe they were jealous of...of something she did well or of something she had…?"

Dean was half listening to the answers, half waiting for the kid, and half looking around for anything dusty. Consequently, he missed most of Sam's conversation.

Out of nowhere, Sam smacked him on the arm. Dean jumped, looking around. Kurt was gone. "What?" he grumbled.

"Come on, Dean. Let it go. You cockblocking every particle of dust isn't going to matter. If it's a curse, it's gonna happen. Just...relax and focus on the case!"

Dean dragged a hand down his face, conceding. "Yeah, yeah, fine. I just...it's so  _stupid_."

Sam sighed. "I know, okay? It's probably someone's version of amusement or something. But we gotta - "

He was cut off by the arrival of a young girl, being gently led into the room by Kurt. "Go on, Sarah...it's okay. These men just want to ask you some questions."

The girl's face turned sour. "They're just gonna make fun of me," she muttered.

Dean shook his head. "Not a chance, Sarah. We just wanna know what you saw." The girl gave her father a pleading look. "Hey...trust me. We'll believe everything you say."

"Go on," Kurt encouraged. "Be honest."

Sarah snorted. "You don't believe me, either."

Sam interrupted, "Kurt...how about you show me where...everything happened...so Sarah can talk to Agent Rhoads?"

With one last worried look at his daughter, Kurt nodded. "Yeah...yeah, okay. Call if you need me, okay?"

Sarah just nodded, sullenly sitting on the couch.

As soon as Sam and Kurt left the room, Dean sat opposite her. "So…?"

She sighed. "I got up to get a glass of water. I came downstairs and saw…" Her eyes welled with tears. "I saw my mom at the patio door telling someone she was sorry. A green scarf flew through the doorway and wrapped around her neck. That's when I ran back upstairs to get my dad." She shuffled her feet on the floor.

Dean nodded. "The scarf - did it float slowly through the air, or did it kinda look like it'd been shot?"

Sarah's head snapped up. "You believe me?"

Dean splayed his hands. "I told you I would. I just need the truth."

"It looked like it'd been shot. It was straight - not, like, floppy."

Dean nodded again. "Did you see who she was talking to?"

The baby monitor didn't record any voices, just the sounds of someone being strangled.

Now, Sarah sighed, eyes wary again. "Yeah…"

Dean raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"A snowman."

"What'd it look like, exactly?"

Sarah blinked at Dean's simple acceptance of her story. "Uh...like a snowman?"

Dean shook his head. "Details, Sarah. Was it wearing a hat? What stuff decorated it? Did it move?"

"Oh...uh...it had a hat, black, like a normal snowman hat. There were black buttons down the front, but one was missing. The second one, I think. And it had no nose."

"Come again?"

"You know...usually snowmen have carrot noses, but this one had no nose."

_Huh_. Stupid curse, and a really fucking stupid case. Who thought this shit up?

Dean smiled. "Thanks, Sarah. You were a really big help."

Sarah smiled back.

"Everything okay?" Kurt asked, leading Sam back into the room.

Sarah smiled at her father. "They believed me!"

Kurt's smile faltered a little, but he fixed it real fast. "That's...great! Go back upstairs, okay?"

"Okay!" Sarah took off, her footsteps pounding up the stairs.

Kurt turned on Dean. "Why'd you let her think that a snowman killed her mother?"

Dean slowly stood up. "You know, first off, you weren't there. Sarah had information we needed that matched some other evidence we found. Second, telling her she's wrong or that she's crazy doesn't help her or the case, and it doesn't bring your wife back. Third, how do you know a snowman  _didn't_  kill her? Come on, Sam."

He pushed past a stunned Kurt and out the door. Sam handed over a business card. "Let us know if you or Sarah think of anything else that could be helpful."

On the drive back to the motel, they exchanged information. Turned out, Stacy Carnes was a member of a church group that started up within the last month or so. She'd been spending a lot of time there, doing who knew what. Kurt wasn't privy to the group's activities. But no one seemed to hate her or have it out for her. She was a loving mom and a good wife.

Dean shared what Sarah shared.

Sam rubbed his jaw. "This case is weird."

"Exactly."

"So now what?"

"Third victim's house."

Sam flipped through his phone. "Mark Theron lived at…"

**xxxxx**

They rang the doorbell and stood, rocking on their heels in tandem before Dean rolled his eyes and stopped. The door opened, and a pleasant looking woman asked, "May I help you?"

Sam and Dean flashed their badges. "Hello Mrs. Theron...I'm Agent LeBon, this is Agent Rhoads. We'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband's accident."

The woman's face twisted. "It was no accident. He was murdered. Come on in. I'll tell you whatever I can."

Clara Theron proceeded to tell them all about her husband's new church group that he recently tried to leave. "They were so angry with him for wanting to spend more time at home with me and the girls." She pressed her lips together and shook her head angrily. "I wouldn't be surprised if they did something. The police think it was a burglary gone wrong, but I disagree."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. No one at the sheriff's office suggested a burglary.

"What can you tell us about this church group?"

Apparently, a little charity-based club was formed at a local church, but only certain people were a part of the group. The claim was that family was important, and if both parents were out doing the Lord's work, the children at home would suffer.

Dean rolled his eyes at that one.

"So you think someone from this group murdered your husband?" Sam asked. It seemed a little...odd.

Clara nodded emphatically. "Absolutely. They were so...intense. Always meeting to plan events. Secretive about what was going on. Said they didn't want to spoil the surprise. But Mark...he started telling me that the people were a little... _much_. A little  _too_  devout. The club had membership levels, and he was at the initiate stage."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "Initiate? Your word or his?"

"Oh, his. Who has membership levels in a charity group? It's ridiculous. He said he wasn't willing to give up more time to them. So, he wanted out."

"Give up time? Was that all they wanted from him? More time?" Sam asked.

Clara shrugged. "That's what he said."

"What's what  _he_  said?" Dean asked. "Try to remember  _exactly_  what he said."

Clara frowned. "Well, he said that he wasn't willing to give them what they wanted. I asked if it was more time, and he said yes."

Dean pulled his upper lip between his teeth and made a slight smacking noise. "Thank you. This was a big help. Now...we were told that one of your children found him? And claimed that a snowman killed him?"

Clara snorted, then looked around guiltily. "That's what Susan thinks she saw. She said a snowman with only one eye was standing near Mark's body. But that's...I mean, there's no snow outside. And one eye? I think she was trying to process everything." She dabbed at her eyes. "Here...I'll show you where he was found."

The body was discovered in the garage. A scorch mark on the floor indicated where the coals were burning.

She closed the door to the garage and walked the brothers back through the house. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, ma'am, not right now. But here's our card. If you think of anything else, please - "

Sam never finished the sentence. At that moment, a elderly woman carrying a white bag came around a corner. "Clara - I don't understand how to change this vacuum bag!" She bumped right into Sam, the contents of said bag bursting out all over her and Sam.

She choked and coughed, wildly brushing dust off her face while apologizing.

Sam stumbled backwards, into Dean, face contorted from a concentrated blast of dust straight up his nose. Deep, uneven breaths followed, as his nose reacted violently to the stimulus, building up toward a release.

" _HhhhhhhHHHHHhhHHH-HATSSCCHHHEW!"_

Only one, but it was painful, and followed by a round of fierce coughing from dust traveling down his throat. Somehow, Dean managed to get Sam's coat off. Clara brought over wet cloths, one for each dust-covered target. With most of the dust off him, Sam croaked a goodbye, and they left the house.

**xxxxx**

"Holy fucking shit, Sam. I mean... _shit_."

Sam sat slumped in the passenger seat, massaging his forehead, sniffling pathetically. "I know."

Dean shot him a look. "Your voice sounds wrecked."

The look Sam returned was scathing. "You try having a bag full of dust rammed up your nose."

Dean shook his head. " _Nooooo_  thank you. I just...I almost forgot about it. And maybe...I thought you were full of shit. But that was...I mean it was  _dust_. And that's what we were waiting for."

Sam half-sneezed half-coughed into his shoulder. "Well...it's over for today. We need to pay attention tomorrow...see what happens."

"Well, we know there will be dust, pepper, and bright light. I wonder what else we'll deal with."

"I can't wait to find out."

**xxxxx**

The next morning, both brothers woke at the same time.

But neither moved from their beds.

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

"You, uh...gonna get up?"

"...No?"

"What do you mean no?"

"Why aren't  _you_  up? Don't you have to go to the bathroom?"

"Don't  _you_?"

"Okay, this is stupid. We're hiding in bed because...what? We don't wanna sneeze?"

Sam sighed. "I know. I'm not scared to sneeze, it's just...the idea that it's been planned out for us is kinda…"

"It's stupid, and weird, and a little…"

"...unnerving," Sam finished for him.

"Yeah."

…..

"So...you gonna get up?"

"Why don't we talk about the case first?"

"Oh, yeah. Good idea. So Bobby had nothing on the button, right?"

Dean laced his fingers behind his head. "No. Said it was just a button, and to stop wasting his time."

Sam huffed a laugh. "Right. Well...okay. The two kids said they saw a snowman. One was missing a nose, and the other an eye...which was probably a piece of coal. Almost like that specific snowman was going from one house to the next, each time losing a piece of his getup."

Dean smirked, "How do you know it was a boy snowman? Could've been a girl."

"Whatever, Dean. Hit on it later. We also have this church group that two victims were a part of."

Dean scratched his ear. "And Mark tried to leave because they were too devout.  _And_  he was an initiate. What's that sound like to you?"

"A coven."

"Yup. Fucking witches. Maybe they're behind this curse."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so. We got whammied before we got here. They didn't know we were coming...and maybe don't even know we're here now."

"Yeah, okay. I was hoping for an easy fix."

"I hear you. So what should we do today?"

It was quiet a moment, as both boys accepted the inevitable - they had to get up and face the curse.

"We should try to go back to Mike Baron's house - the carrot in the eye guy."

"Yeah. Maybe talk with Maurice again...the bodies had nothing unusual, but maybe he found a tattoo or some other cult marking on them."

Dean rolled onto his side. "Hey...what about the victim from the paper? The one who was sliced in half by the patio door?"

Sam's mouth cinched to the side. "Oh yeah...that's the story that got reported. I dunno...we should check into that, too."

And  _still_  they lie in bed.

But then the phone rang, the screen lighting up the space near the nightstand. Without thinking, Dean reached for it, staring at the screen. "It's the...uh... _huh_ _-TSHHCH'UH!_ Fuck! It's the sheriff."

Sam muttered, "One down…"

Dean sniffed and answered the phone. "Hello? … Really? … Okay...we'll be there in a bit." He hung up, and sniffled again. "Well...I guess I can cross bright light off the list for today. That was the sheriff."

"I gathered that when you said it was the sheriff."

Dean threw a pillow at Sam. "Another body turned up. This one was...get this...sliced in half by a patio door."

"Wait...but that's what - "

"I know, Sammy. Time to get up and get started. It's just sneezing, right? No big deal. We have a mystery sneeze-causer to meet."

"Mystery sneeze-causer?"

Dean threw off the covers and sat up. "Dunno what else to call it. I guess today will be the big test...see if things pan out the way we think."

Sam sighed, also sitting up. "Yeah. I hope I'm wrong."

"Lucky us, you rarely are."

**xxxxx**

They got out of bed, dressed, and into the Impala without any other sneezing. Movement was cautious, eyes darting around in anticipation for expected and unexpected triggers. The Impala rumbled, the clock ticked, they still sat.

"So…" Dean started, hands gripping the wheel. "If we go to a diner…"

"...there's pepper. Yeah, I know. If we go near anything with food, chances are we'll start sneezing."

Dean sighed. "Okay. It's just a sneeze, right? No big deal. We're not bleeding, we're not hurt, we're not dying. We're just sneezing."

"Exactly, Dean."

"Then take off those stupid sunglasses, you big baby."

"You're the one not driving, asshole."

Dean flicked the glasses off Sam's face, Sam blinked once, then sneezed into cupped hands.

Dean put the car in reverse. "Now we're even."

**xxxxx**

A silent agreement settled on just coffee for breakfast, ordered from a drive-thru. Unfortunately, a clerk at the window tripped while carrying someone else's order.

" _Heh-etschuh! Hih-hxngt!"_

"Seriously?"

Dean sniffed hard, scrubbing his nose to relieve the itching. "Just cross pepper off my list for the day, Sam. Let's get to the sheriff."

The rest of the drive was quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. There was a definite apprehension in the air as the curse theory seemed to be proving itself true. On rare occasions, Sam hated being right. This was definitely one of them. Being sick was never this stressful. But what other explanation was there? The girl tripped while holding pepper, when they didn't even order any food that could possibly need pepper, and just so happened to chuck it out the drive-thru window directly at Dean?

Fucking curses.

Still, Sam told himself, Dean was right. They were just sneezing. Who cared? He didn't feel sick, he wasn't in any pain, there weren't even residual effects from the outbursts. They sneezed, sniffled, blew their noses, then moved on.

Not a big deal.

He could do this. They could do this.

Just as Dean parked, Sam had a flare of panic...how long would this last?

_Laterlaterlater._

The sheriff's department did not display the hustle and bustle Dean expected, considering someone was just found sliced in half by their patio door.

"Hullo, agents." They turned at the drawled greeting. The sheriff walked over, still wearing his hat. "You said to call if anythin' else happened."

...And he stood there.

Already on edge from the curse, Dean wasn't in the mood for Officer SlowPoke. "What happened?"

The sheriff scratched behind his ear, beckoning for them to go into his office. Dean eyed the dusty computer while Sam scanned the dusty desk. "Wellp, Caron Milton was a sweetheart. Made the most amazing coconut macaroons and collected ceramic kangaroos."

Dean nudged Sam. "Remember that documentary?"

"Shut up," Sam hissed back.

"Anyhoo, she was found this morning...in two pieces." He pulled out a large envelope. Both Sam and Dean flinched, anticipating dust or something else. "Here are the pictures."

After a quick look at Sam, Dean pulled out the photos. 8x10 color shots of Caron Milton...top half inside, bottom half outside.

"Jesus…"

"Yuuup. Kinda weird, huh?"

Dean briefly closed his eyes, willing Sam to take over.

"So...any idea what happened to her?"

The sheriff nodded at the pictures. "She got cut in half."

Dean nodded tersely, handed Sam the photos, and left the room.

"Where's he goin'?"

Sam choked down his own irritation. "Nevermind him. What I meant was, did anyone see what happened? Any video or audio footage?"

Shaking his head, the sheriff picked up a mug of coffee and took a sip. "Nope, not this time."

Sam sighed. "Great. Well, we'll head to Maurice and see if - "

"Her kid heard it all, though."

Sam somehow left without hitting him.

**xxxxx**

"Honestly, Sam, I can't deal with him anymore."

Dean took a turn a little more sharply that necessary, prompting Sam to brace himself to keep from sliding across the seat. "I know, Dean, I get it. But we  _have_  to deal with him."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, I know. But Christ, he's just...no one seems to care that people are dying around here."

"Well," Sam reasoned, "if there  _is_  a coven, we don't know how big it is. I mean, maybe people are under its control, or maybe the sheriff is involved somehow."

Dean swore. "That's worse, Sam. Everyone in town's a witch, now?"

Sam held up his hands. "Not saying that. Just saying that we don't have all the pieces, yet."

"I prefer to think that the sheriff is just a moron. Makes it easier. Stupid people and stupid curses are better than witches and covens."

"True that."

"Speaking of the curse...none of the dust set us off in there. Given some of the goofy ways we've been made to sneeze, you'd think the normal stuff would be a thing, too."

"Yeah...I wondered about that." Sam glanced at his watch. "It's still early, so there's time for us to still sneeze a lot."

Dean made jazz hands.

Inspecting the body came first, figuring that getting Maurice out of the way would make the day a little easier.

"I'm not going near those canisters," Dean growled as they walked up the steps.

Sam stopped, his thinking face on.

"What?" Dean asked.

"You tried to keep stuff away from me yesterday, and I still got a face full of dust. So just...do whatever. Act normal."

Dean blinked at him.

"Sorry. Act how other people think is normal."

Dean snapped his fingers, gave Sam a jaunty finger point, and led the way inside.

They smelled it in the hallway, their steps faltering a little as each wondered whether this was the "mystery sneeze-causer". Sam wanted to punch his brother for embedding that phrase in his head. Instead of monitoring themselves, they began to monitor the other, checking for signs of a runny nose or itchy eyes or twitching nostrils...anything that would signal an incoming attack.

But, nothing.

Both paused outside the examination room.

"What the hell  _is_  that?" Sam asked in a slightly high-pitched whisper that set off Dean's alarms. Right then, it didn't matter whether this thing was going to make Sam sneeze. Sam's anxiety over the  _possibility_  kicked Dean's big brother gears into motion.

Admittedly, they were a little rusty.

"I dunno...it's floral, but...not. Come on. No point in hiding." Figuring that confidence was the way to go, Dean strode into the room, calling for Maurice. He expected Sam to be right behind him, so he didn't really wait to make sure Sam actually followed him inside. So when he turned around to find Sam still in the doorway, one hand under his nose, the other on the doorframe, Dean pivoted on his heels and practically ran back. "Sam?"

Sam shook his head, eyes clenched shut. "It's...strong... _hih_...I... _heh_...find out... _huh_ … what... _heh_...it... _heh_... _Hhh'ihhh-_ _ **ETSCH**_ _shuh! *sniff*_ is...it's...God…. _ **TSHCH**_ _SHUuu!"_

Dean pushed Sam backwards. "Outside.  _Now_."

Nodding and stumbling, Sam retraced his steps until he was back in the cold air, gulping it in as fast as he could. "Holyshit...that was... _fuck…_ " He scrubbed at his face, wiping away a few stray tears.

Dean's hand was still on his back, even as he pulled a bandana from his back pocket. How he carried them without bulging pants was beyond Sam, but he didn't really care. He grabbed the soft fabric and clutched it to his face, sighing in relief.

"You okay?" Dean asked, trying to get a look at Sam's face. "Huh?"

Sam nodded, straightening with a final sniffle, testing his sinuses. "Yeah...it's gone now. What the hell was in there?"

Dean shook his head. "I dunno...but whatever it is, that's trigger number 4."

Sam pushed his hair back. "Why didn't it affect you?"

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. We have the same triggers, but it doesn't hit us at the same time. So I guess I now have a preview of what's to come, huh?"

"Yeah…"

"You wait in the car. Do some fancy research or something while I deal with Maurice."

"Okay."

Sam shuffled off to the car, letting out one last, stray sneeze into the bandana before opening the door and sliding inside. His total compliance spoke to how strong this reaction was. Well, good thing Dean wasn't affected. He needed to take a look at the body.

So, back inside he went.

Maurice's examination room was mostly dark, except for five candles placed on various counters. Dean lifted one and read the sticker on the bottom.

_Luscious Lavender_

He checked another one.

_Christmas Wreath_

He rubbed an eye and moved to the third.

_Balsam and Cedar_

"Well hello again, Agent. What can I do you for?"

Dean spun around to see Maurice in the doorway, wearing a Santa hat that lit up while playing Jingle Bells. He scratched his nose and asked, "Hi there, do you have Caron Milton's body?"

"You mean bodies? Plural?"

Dean sighed on the inside, and absently sniffled on the outside. "The parts, plural, of her singular body."

Maurice grinned. "Yup. In the chiller. Come on over."

Dean gestured around the room as he joined the coroner at one of the body doors. "What's with all the candles?"

Maurice shrugged, unlatching the door. "It's Christmas. They look pretty. And it smells in here. All the time. You don't like 'em?"

Dean sniffled again, realizing that his nose was starting to run.  _Fuck_. The candles were starting to get to him. There was no way to know whether the reaction would be brief, long, as intense as Sam's, or really, anything at all. His only option at that point was to keep going, so he swallowed hard, running his tongue along the top of his mouth to stop the slight tickling that just started.

"They're fine - I was just... _hih_...curious. Not many coroner's keep candles...uh...lit.  _*sniff*_ "

With a loud scraping sound, Maurice opened the door and pulled out the shelf that held poor Caron Milton. There was a notable dip in the sheet between Part A and Part B.

Dean peeked under the sheet at her face, serene and peaceful, despite the brutal murder. He quickly dropped it and turned away, sneezing softly into his sleeve.

"Bless you."

"Yeah. Any weird markings on her? Tattoos or maybe a sca-scar- _It'titchhh!"_

Maurice shook his head. "Nope. Nothing."

Dean sneezed  _again_.

"Well, except that  _fake_  tattoo."

Dean managed a glare, before stifling a double against his wrist. The longer he stayed, the worse he was getting. On one hand, it was good info to have. On the other hand, he was starting to lose control. "What fake tattoo?"

Thankfully, Dean found some napkins previously shoved in his pocket, and pressed them against his nose. Breathing through his mouth, he tried to ignore the watering eyes, the incessant itching in his nose, the urge to get the hell out of that room.

Maurice lifted a corner of the sheet by her ankles. Above her right ankle was a swirly pattern, peeling in the corners. Biting his tongue, Dean got out his phone and snapped a couple pictures before losing it and sneezing openly on the floor.

"You alright there?"

Slowly, Dean stood. "Yeah. What about the other victims? Did they have the same fake tattoo?"

Maurice thought hard as he pushed Caron back into the chiller. Dean wished that kicking Maurice would help him think faster.

"Yep. They did."

"Where?"

"Ankle, Lower back, shoulder."

Dean didn't care which victim had which location. "Great. Thanks-bye- _hxgnt!_ "

He practically ran up the stairs and outside, leaning against a signpost and sneezing freely once the cool air hit his face.

Next thing he knew, Sam was there. "Dude! You okay?"

Bent over, hands on his knees, Dean flapped a hand. "Yeah," he gasped. "Jus'...gimme a minute."

A minute was all he needed. Dean stood straight, tested the air, gave Sam the thumb's up and headed for the car. "Stupidest curse ever. But at least it doesn't last. Come on - I have something for you to research."

They drove off, Sam studying the photos Dean took. "So this symbol was on all the victims?"

"Apparently, but in different locations. Caron's was on her ankle. The others were on a shoulder, lower back, and another ankle."

"Did he say which victim matched which location?"

Dean squirmed. "I didn't ask. I was too busy trying not to sneeze."

Sam turned to face him. "So it was a scented candle?"

Dean waved a finger at him. "Not  _a_  candle.  _Five_  candles. All a different scent, I think. I only got to look at three before Maurice showed up."

"I wonder why they didn't bother you when we first smelled them. Why one of us at a time?"

"Maybe so the torture takes longer. I dunno, Sammy." Dean glanced at Sam. "You feeling okay, now?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah...perfectly fine. I got it over with and...yeah. All good. You?"

Dean shrugged, turning left. "Peachy. So...no reason to be worked up, right? We get the trigger, sneeze, then we're done. Easy peasy."

Sam huffed, looking out the window. "Yeah, I guess."

"So what's left on the list?"

"Well, we were going back to the Baron's house, then - "

"Nono - what's left to make us sneeze today?"

Sam blinked. "Oh, uh...neither of us has had dust, and I still need pepper."

Dean smacked the steering wheel. "Great. Can't wait."

**xxxxx**

The Barons still weren't home...so Dean decided to pay the inside of the house a visit anyway. Sam picked the lock on a side door and they were inside within seconds.

Furniture was covered in white sheets, telling them the occupants were no longer around.

"Awesome," Dean groused. "No one to question."

Sam blew out a breath. "Let's look around anyway."

Not concerned with stealth, they moved quickly, checking under sheets and peeking in closets. It was clear the house had been empty for at least a couple weeks.

"Well," Dean reasoned, "it makes sense. This guy was the first victim, right? So...maybe they packed and left afterward."

Sam spun slowly, taking one last look. "Yeah, that sounds plausible. Why didn't the sheriff tell us?"

Dean arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, okay, nevermind. Let's check the basement then head out."

Flashlights on, they went downstairs, beams of light flashing this way and that.

"Ow!"

Dean whipped around, gun out and ready. "Sam?!"

His flashlight revealed Sam, rubbing his temple, pointing at a light bulb dangling from the ceiling. "Walked into it."

Dean rolled his eyes as he tucked the gun back into his pants. "Jesus, Sam. You almost gave me a heart attack." He reached over and pulled the chain, sending the bulb swinging and loosening some dust that clung to the light fixture.

Sam stepped back, blinking and pawing at his nose. "Dean!" He sneezed forcefully against his wrist.

"You're welcome. Cross dust off your list. Let's check over here."

In the corner of the basement, on a shelf, sat an ornate box. Dean sent Sam a look, before reaching up and taking it down. On the top, was the same symbol from Caron's fake tattoo.

They gave each other a look, Dean tapping the lid with a finger.

"We should probably check with Bobby before opening this."

"I was thinking the same thing. Let's go."

The box tucked safely under their arms, they returned to the Impala, where Dean stowed it in the trunk, wrapped in a blanket.

"Now where?"

Sam checked his watch. "It's getting late. Let's grab some food then head back to the motel and call Bobby."

"Sounds good. You need pepper, and I still need dust. Let's get a move on."

"You're really upbeat for someone who's been cursed," Sam asked as they drove to a diner.

Dean shrugged. "What can we do, Sam? We should probably ask Bobby about this, but I'm afraid he'll be too busy laughing to be helpful." He stole a quick glance at Sam. Dean resolved to stay upbeat, if it helped Sam cope and get through it.

On the inside, though? He was a little freaked out.

Sam braced for pepper sneezes the whole time they ate. Dean figured they should just stay there and eat - the pepper would find Sam one way or another. Still, he moved the pepper shaker to the far end of the table when they sat down. He ordered grilled cheese and soup, thinking it was simple and easy.

Chicken noodle. It was broth. Broth with noodles.

It was also a little spicy.

" _Hhh'_ _ **attschch**_ _!"_

Dean dropped his fork, glaring at the entire restaurant. "Who makes chicken noodle soup spicy?!"

"Dean!"

"I'm serious, Sam!"

Sam held up a hand, sniffing the soup again. "Look - nothing. No itching, no sneezing, nothing. It's like I just...needed to get exposed to it, and now it's over. It's fine. Let's just eat."

Dean shook his head, picking up his fork again. "I'm tellin' you. We're taking a vacation after this."

Sam snorted. He knew his brother's idea of a vacation. "One sneeze to go, champ. And it's all yours."

"Bring it."

**xxxxx**

" _Hhh-_ _ **IHSCH**_ _CHuhh!"_  Dean sniffed. "Done! Let's call Bobby."

Sam chuckled, refolding the blanket that held the tattooed box. It swept dust off the wood and into the air as Dean unwrapped it.

"Great," Sam declared, his tone mostly upbeat.

When Dean disappeared inside their room, Sam sagged a little against the car. "Now we can relax."

**xxxxx**

Bobby didn't answer his phone, so Dean left a message and had Sam start searching the Internet for the symbol. He got tired of the wooden box glaring at him, so back in the Impala it went.

After making sure it was safely stowed away, Dean hunkered down in bed with his laptop, looking up sneezing curses. He was willing to do anything to avoid asking Bobby about their predicament.

Amid clicking keys, Sam asked, "Tomorrow...talk to Caron Milton's kid? The one who heard her mother dying?"

"Yeah, sounds good. I'm thinking we oughta check out the church these people were involved with, too. We can't go in there as possible newcomers to their flock, but maybe we can snoop around."

Sam's clicking paused. "We don't have a lot to go on, here. A button, a symbol, and a kid who saw a flying scarf and a snowman."

Dean heard the words, but also heard something  _beneath_  the words. Years with Sam trained him to pay attention to tone of voice, and something in Sam's voice was definitely  _off_. He glanced up. "Yeah...but something's going on. Just gotta keep looking."

"What if it's not witches? I mean, what else could it be?"

Dean's jaw cinched to the side, his brain trying to decipher that which is Sam. "What're you thinking, really?"

A slow blush began creeping up Sam's neck, followed by a quick shrug. "Nothing." He went back to the computer. "Just...wondering if someone else should take over the case."

"Take over the... _what?_ Why?"

Another shrug. More keyboard clicking.

Dean knew this had nothing to do with a lack of evidence or slow progress. That only left one thing. "Is it 'cause of the sneezing thing?"

The blush deepened.

"Sam."

_Clickclickclickclickclickclick._

"Sammy!"

Sam sighed, slumping in his chair. "We have no idea what's going on with us. We're just...we're gonna keep hunting, even though we're cursed?" He began ticking reasons off his fingers. "We don't know what caused the curse, we don't know if the pattern's gonna hold, we don't know how long it's gonna last, we don't know what's going to make us sneeze, we don't know how bad it's gonna get. I mean, right now, it's one sneeze, a couple sneezes, yeah, not a big deal. But what if it gets worse? What if it hits when your life depends on me  _not_  sneezing? What if -"

Dean set the laptop to the side, eyes wide with Sam's verbal diarrhea. "Jesus, Sammy, hold on!" Sam huffed, Dean ignored it, moving to an empty chair at the table. "It's a stupid curse. If we have to be cursed - "

"Why would we  _have_  to be cursed?"

"If we  _ **have to be cursed,**_  this is an easy curse to have. Think of it as...as a...a little surprise waiting for us every day. Like a Christmas present we gotta open." He sat back, thinking he outdid himself in the big brother reassurance department.

Until Sam shit on it.

"You're worried, too, aren't you?"

Dean blinked.

"Yup. You're just as freaked out as I am," Sam crowed.

"And that makes you happy?"

"No, it makes me not feel like a pussy."

"Well…"

Sam kicked him. "I'm serious, Dean. You're trying too hard to be upbeat about this. You wanna keep hunting? Okay...I guess it's a distraction. But we need to figure out what's going on with us."

Dean sighed, rubbing his forehead in defeat. "Look...I dunno what's going on." He waved a hand at his laptop. "There's absolutely nothing out there on sneezing curses, except some weird fanfiction stories. And they all have witches causing the curses. So...we're in a town with possibly some witches...we're cursed...I think we may be killing two birds with one stone, here."

Sam took a measured breath. "Tomorrow is five...five things will make us sneeze."

"Yup...what do you think number five will be?"

"Well...I was looking up what makes a person sneeze."

"I thought you were researching that symbol."

"Priorities, Dean. Now...we know about dust, pepper, bright light and scented candles. There isn't much more beyond that - pollen, ragweed and animal dander are the big allergy sources. Other than that, it's anyone's guess."

"Okay...well I'm already allergic to cats, so no biggie there. It's almost Christmas. Even though there isn't snow on the ground, it's definitely cold out, so I dunno how pollen and ragweed are gonna work."

"Think about it, Dean. We've had some fucked up scenarios lately...where there was no real way for pepper to get at us, or dust to land on us, yet it happened."

Dean hung his head. "Yeah, you're right. I still think we should keep with this case, and while we're at it, see if it's related to these witches, and just...I dunno...stuff our pockets with Kleenex."

**xxxxx**

The next day, no sunlight streamed through the curtains to wake them with a morning sneeze or two. The air felt heavy, and a quick check of the weather confirmed that snow was on the way.

Despite everything, Sam was kind of excited about the news. Dean, on the other hand, was not.

"Now Baby's gonna get salt on her, moron drivers could slide into her, I have to dig out the car brush...I think it's under the machetes…"

They left the room and Sam realized...nothing glinted in the sun, because there was no sun shining. Thick clouds filled the sky, promising at least three inches of the white stuff. The usual sneezy start to their day was delayed.

Dean tossed Sam the keys. "Warm her up - I'm gonna ask whoever's at the front desk what kind of salt they use on the parking lot."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Sam started the Impala, then slid into the passenger seat. He thought about their conversation last night. At least it was clearly in the open now...they were both freaked out by the curse. But...if witches were involved with the murders, then maybe one of them set the curse in the first place. Dealing with them could very well end it.

Sam sighed. He still thought they should pawn it on another hunter and wait out the curse at Bobby's. At first he was very rational about it. But now...not so much.

Dean left the front office, breath hitching, wrist under his nose. He braced himself against the Impala before sneezing twice.

Just as Sam opened his door, Dean opened  _his_  door and slid inside. Sam shut his and turned to his brother. "What was it?"

Dean sniffled, leaning against the headrest. "Pepper. Dude was eating breakfast."

"Oooo-kay, so pepper's off your list for today."

"Jesus…" Dean snapped forward with another one.

"You sure you're okay to drive?"

Dean turned and sneezed on Sam before putting the car into reverse.

**xxxxx**

Caron Milton's house was...nothing like the others. The landscaping was a disaster. Toys littered the lawn, amid tufts of weeds.

From the Impala, Dean muttered, "If it looks this awesome on the outside…"

Sam huffed in agreement, and they walked up to the front door.

The moment Sam stepped outside, he knew he was facing a trigger. His eyes teared up, his nose began to run, and a tiny tickle surfaced in the back of his nose, forcing him to rub it, but not allowing any relief. He pulled a tissue from his pocket, deciding to save his own bandana for later, and pressed it against his face.

Dean caught all of it. "You gonna sneeze?"

Sam could only nod, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Every step closer to the house made the itch flare sharply. The second his foot hit the front step, he sneezed. " _Hhhh'Hp-TSHCHCH!"_

Dean sighed, "Bless you, Sam."

Sam took a breath, nudging Dean with his elbow. "See what it is," was all he could get out before letting out three more.

But, Dean was already looking around one hand again on Sam's back. "I dunno...there's just a bunch of...weeds...here... _shit_."

" _Hiiiihhhh-KISHHHNT!_  Weeds? Like...the ragweed that isn't supposed to be here?"

The front door opened. An older woman with a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth eyeballed them. "Whatd'ya want?" she rasped.

The almost caricature behavior stopped Sam's sneezing long enough for him to give her a puzzled look. It only lasted a moment, then the itching resumed.

Dean took over, flashing his badge. "Hi - we'd like to ask you a few questions about Caron's death...and maybe speak to her daughter who heard what happened."

The woman made a face at Sam before opening the screen door. "Yeah, sure. Come on in."

Sam exploded once more, " _HHeh'_ _ **ETSCHCH**_ _YUUuu!_ " before mumbling a thank you. The door clicked shut behind them, and the itching stopped.

A headache remained, however. The sneezing was a bit stronger than usual.

"Maybelline! There's some cops here for you!" The woman shuffled away, leaving the brothers alone in the living room.

"Jesus...lookit this place…" Dean muttered.

There was stuff everywhere. Piles of papers, toys, clothing...all heaped across the floor. Dean stepped over a couple piles to get across the room. " _Hhhhhh'iihhhh-HRSHSCHCH-uh!"_

Still reeling from the ragweed fit, Sam cleared his throat before asking, "Dean?"

Dean gave his head a little shake, indicating he didn't know what was setting  _him_  off. They looked around. Sam spotted it first. "There!" He pointed to a tiny air freshener, in the shape of a candle, plugged into an outlet.

Sam tried to reach it, maybe unplug it. Dean belted out another sneeze, and a young girl, maybe eleven years old, piped up, "You wanted to talk to me?"

Dean sneezed again.

"Ummm," Sam began, looking around the room. "Yes...hi. Is there another room we can talk in? I'm Agent LeBon, he's Agent Rhoads. We'd like to ask you some questions about your mom."

At this point,  _Sam's_  hand was on  _Dean's_  back. Dean didn't seem to mind.

The girl rolled her eyes and led them into the kitchen...past a china cabinet covered in " _Hehh-_ _ **ISHHH**_ _! Hhh-_ _ **IHSCH**_ _CHuhh!"_  dust. Sam wasn't over the ragweed yet. Moving straight into another trigger wasn't expected.

Changing rooms helped Dean, though. No longer reacting to the electronic candle, he didn't even notice the dust. He just noticed  _Sam's_  sneezing. "Still with the ragweed?"

Sam shook his head, digging out a fresh tissue. "Dust." He pointed with his head at the china cabinet.

Dean's head retreated when he saw how thick the dust layer looked, blanketing a shelf full of ceramic kangaroos. "Whoa…" He covered his nose for good measure.

In the kitchen, both calmed down, just in time for the young girl to face them, hands on hips, a snotty look on her face. "Well? What do you want?"

"We're sorry about your mother. The sheriff told us you heard what happened." Dean's face scrunched up...his nose twitching again already. They were going to have to tag team interviewing this bitch. It seemed like everything that could make them sneeze was in this house.

"Yup."

Itchy noses forgotten, they both stared at her. Dean broke the silence. "That's it? Just...yup?" His words were immediately followed by two rough sneezes.

"What's wrong with you? You sick or somethin'?

Sam took over, while scanning the room for Dean's current trigger. "We're trying to figure out what happened to her. Can you tell us what you heard?"

Maybelline rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Someone got tired of her bullshit. She said she was sorry, and that she wouldn't leave, and then the patio door slammed a couple times."

Dean wiped his nose with his bandana, narrowing his eyes at the girl. "You don't sound too broken up about it." Sam nudged him - there was a vase of fresh flowers on the stove.

_Pollen._

Dean nodded, sneezing once more.

Maybelline shrugged. "My momma was a great baker. Everyone liked her. But she could be a bitch."

Eyebrows rose.

"She thought she was better than she was. But she ain't. Not anymore."

Sam was trying to focus on the interview, but all he could see was Dean struggling with the pollen. "Uh...better than she was with what? Bless you!"

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, swiping the bandana under his nose again. Sam missed the undertone of Maybelline's response, so Dean stepped in. "Thank you for your time. We're sorry for your loss."

She shrugged again pushing past them. "Whatever," she called over her shoulder. In order to make room for her, Sam stepped backwards, bumped into a bookshelf, and knocked over a salt and pepper shaker.

The look he gave Dean could've burned a hole in the wall, if it wasn't ruined by fluttering eyelids and rapid-fire sneezes. " _Itschchch! Etschhh! Hrschch! Tschchh!_ "

"Christ, let's get out of thiiiis... _Mphphph!_ house," Dean muttered. His head  _pounded_.

Nodding emphatically, Sam brushed the pepper off his suit, sneezing as he retraced their steps to the front door. Tearing eyes made it difficult to see. Sam stumbled over various crap on the floor, and from the sounds of swearing behind him, Dean was doing the same thing.

Dean bumped into a lamp, sneezing at the dust from the shade. Sam got a whiff of the scented plug-in, and bent over with a triple.

With a growl, Dean grabbed Sam's arm and thrust him outside, past the ragweed and into the Impala. Neither had a clue if the cigarette lady saw them leave, where Maybelline disappeared to, or anything else. Their faces streamed with tears, they could barely breathe, and each had a headache that needed immediate attention.

The car doors slammed shut, panting and sniffling filling the air.

"By throat is killindg be…," Sam whined.

"By eyes feel like they're on fire…," Dean whined.

"By head fucking hurts…," they both whined.

Dean looked over at Sam. "Why are we still affected?"

San blew his nose in the last corner of his bandana. "Doh idea. Baybe because there was too buch at a tibe."

Dean sniffed, wiping his eyes carefully. "Back to the botel."

"Yes,  _please_."

**xxxxx**

Somehow, Dean got them back to the motel without an accident. Sam figured he'd applaud his brother later.

Dean latched the door shut behind them. "Shower Sammy." Thankfully, the congestion was clearing.

Sam shook his head, toeing off his shoes. "You first."

"You dumped pepper all over your head. Shower."

"You walked into a lamp shade - there's dust on your ear."

"Sam! Shower.  _Now_."

With a huff, Sam grabbed his duffel and stomped to the bathroom. Once inside, he realized how stupid that whole scene was. Why was it okay for Dean to wait, with a king sized dust bunny dangling from his right ear? Why did Sam always obey, on automatic pilot when Dean bully-mothered him?

Because Dean's his mother. And Sam always came first. 'Twas the way of the Dean.

Sam sighed. There was no fighting that.

He turned on the water and undressed, thinking that it'd been a while since The Way Of The Dean showed itself. He stared at the door, chewing his lower lip. It was nice to have it back.

In the room, Dean swatted at his ear, grimacing at the huge dust clump. He threw it outside just for good measure, locking and rewarding the door once he was sure it had left his hand.

When would Sam just accept that Dean's job was to take care of him? The sooner he stopped arguing that point, the easier it would be.

However...he stared at the bathroom door, chewing on his lower lip.  _Sam_  was trying to take care of  _Dean_. It'd been a long while since that side of Sam showed up...the side that showed he cared, that Dean mattered. It was nice to have it back.

**xxxxx**

Thirty minutes later, both brothers lie flat on their backs in their own beds, trying to sort out what the hell just happened.

"It's only eleven in the morning," Sam said.

"Yup."

"I can't move right now."

"Nope."

Silence.

Then, "What the hell was that, Dean?"

"Which part? The bitchy chick or the sneezing?"

"Yes."

Dean snorted. "Maybelline didn't seem upset at all, did she?"

"I'm not sure she wasn't glad."

"Come again?"

Sam huffed. "I think she was almost glad that her mom died."

_Oh_. "Agreed. She said that Caron thought she was better than she was. Something about the way she said it...I don't think she was talking about baking macaroons."

"Me either."

Silence.

Then, "What the fuck was that with the sneezing? I mean...four triggers, Dean,  _four triggers_  in one place. How is that even possible?"

Dean shook his head, then groaned. Bad idea. "This curse is creative, I'll give it that. At least now we know what the fifth cause is - plants."

Sam's tone increased in outrage. "How could there be ragweed alive and blooming in December? It's twenty degrees outside. There's no way that was natural."

Dean sniffed. "Of course not, Sam. It's a curse, remember? It was Super-natural."

"Ha. Ha. Ha."

"Well, I'm done for the day. I can't even move right now."

"Me either."

Within minutes, they drifted to sleep, easing their headaches into the past.

They woke several hours later, hungry and refreshed.

"It's too late to talk to anyone else. Let's just...grab a pizza and beer and...watch a movie or something…" Dean almost held his breath, waiting to see Sam's reaction. Momentarily ditch the case to just...hang out for a bit? Very un-Winchester.

"Yeah...that...that's a good idea. We can call Bobby and check out that church tomorrow."

Tomorrow sounded fantastic.

Dean shrugged into his jacket. "I'll grab the food."

Sam hesitated a moment, before grabbing his own jacket. "I'll come with."

Dean watched Sam zip up his coat, his mouth curving into a smile. "Yeah, okay."

He opened the door and blinked. "Sam...lookit this."

While they slept, snow gently covered everything, burying the ugly, leaving a glistening top coat of peace and beauty.

It also sparkled under the street lamps.

In unison, " _Haaahhhhh-TSCHCHSHHYUUUuu!"_

**xxxxx**

_**Continued in the next chapter...** _


	3. Chapter 3

_**Part Three...** _

They slept in because...they wanted to. Part avoidance, part recovery, part...they were up late laughing at shitty monster movies.

But the day was unavoidable. There was work to be done, a conversation to be had with Bobby, and sneezing to be sneezed.

Sam broke the silence first. "We gotta get moving."

"Yeah, I know."

Sam's feet shuffled under the covers. "What do you think we'll get today?"

Dean sighed. "No idea. We're up to six, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Yeah."

Eventually, Dean cleared his throat. "Okay." He tossed off the covers and sat up, ripping Sam's blanket off as well, despite his yelping protest. "Come on. I have a plan."

"A plan?" Sam asked, dubiously, sitting up.

"Yes. And nice mane, by the way."

Sam shook his hair loose, giving the ends a flick. "So, what's your brilliant plan."

"Glad you're conceding the brilliance right from the get go. We're gonna face the curse head on, and get it over with early so we can get some actual work done on this case."

Sam pursed his lips. "What do you mean?"

Dean was grinning, enjoying the  _obvious_  brilliance. He grabbed his duffel and began pulling out clean underwear. "Look, we have five known triggers, and one mystery sneeze-causer. They get spread out over the day, and we never know when they're coming. Why not just expose ourselves to them right away, sneeze-sneeze-sneeze, then we can call Bobby and check out the church."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Is that how it works? Get a face full of flowers, sneeze-sneeze-sneeze, then move on with our day?"

Dean points at him. "Yes! That's how this whole fucking thing's been going so far, right? Think about it, Sam. Scented candle at the morgue. You breathed it in, you sneezed a bunch, then you were fine. I got a face full of pepper, and it was all in my nose and everything. Three sneezes, and I was fine. So yeah, breathe it in, nose'll itch like mad, we'll sneeze for a bit, then we'll be done." Dean paused, because that was his big finish. "Why're you frowning?"

"It sounds too easy."

"Dude, it  _is_  that easy."

"I dunno…"

"You dunno what?" Dean sat down on his bed, facing Sam. "Hey...you still nervous about sneezing? Or about the unknown trigger?"

Sam would've thrown a pillow at him, if Dean's tone hadn't drastically shifted from glib to serious and worried. He was genuinely asking. And Sam found himself genuinely sorting through his thoughts for a genuine answer, rather than automatically denying his worry.

Slowly, Sam shook his head. "No. I mean, yeah, but...that's not it. I guess… _*sigh*_...it's a good plan, Dean. I'm just not optimistic about it working out."

Dean nodded. "I get it. But what do we have to lose?"

Sam shrugged with his eyebrows. "Nothing. Just more sneezing to look forward to later, I suppose. Okay. Let's get this started, then."

He stood up, stretched, marched to the curtains and pulled them open with maybe a teensy bit of dramatic flair.

They blinked in the sudden flood of light, doubled by the reflection from the snow. Each tried not to squint, but rather stare straight on into the light.

"Anything?" Sam asked.

"Nada," Dean sighed. "But that's okay. We still have plenty of triggers to work with. And I know exactly where to go to set us off."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yup. The mall."

Sam almost dropped the pants he was holding. "The mall?  _The mall?_  That's the plan? Dean, we  _hate_  the mall."

"I know Sammy, but it's one location where we can find all the triggers, and have plenty of chances for the new one to show itself. Think about it. Candle shops, food courts, dusty shelves, plants in those…" Dean waved his hands around. "...those planter things in the middle of the hallways. It's perfect. And it's inside."

Sam considered this. It really  _was_  brilliant. He grinned at Dean, who clapped him on the back.

**xxxxx**

Every zip code had a mall, Dean argued, even in small towns. Sure enough, Noel had a decent sized two-story mall that was currently filled to the brim with shoppers excited about Christmas.

While Dean hunted for a parking spot, Sam mentally hunted for a Christmas present idea for Dean. If you asked him six days ago what he was getting his brother, he would've answered, "Nothing." But now...he glanced at Dean, swearing at a minivan for stealing his spot...now he wanted to get something special.

After ten minutes, a spot opened up and Dean expertly guided the Impala between the lines.

"If anyone scratches her, I swear to God…"

Sam pulled up his hood to keep the snow from drifting down the back of his shirt. "You'd never know. The snow's coming down so hard, she'll be covered in no time."

Dean bitchfaced Sam.

"Nevermind. Of course you'd know. She'd probably telepath it to you right after it happened."

The bitchface morphed into a  _Thank You For Understanding_  look.

They trudged inside, stomping their boots on the large, rubber-backed mats laid out on the floor. After shaking the snow off their shoulders, Sam took a deep breath. "Okay. Where to?"

Dean nodded at a directory. "Let's see where shit's located."

They stood in front of the colorful map, noting the  _You Are Here_  arrow. "Well...what do you wanna sneeze from first?"

Sam pulled at his chin, then pointed at the map. "If we start at Bed, Bath and Body Works, we can work our way toward the food court. I'm betting there will be planters...dunno what'll be in them, though. And...maybe...number six will surprise us along the way."

"Hooray for number six. Let's go."

Dean's words were upbeat and optimistic. His tone, however, was a tad flat. Sam knew he felt the same dread of the unknown. He made sure to stay close to Dean for comfort.

That comfort  _might_ have been both ways, too.

They smelled the store before they saw it. Dean muttered, "Here we go," as they approached.

Cue awkward standing in front of an estrogen-heavy store, one eyeball on the hundreds of scented products, the other on...well, the other.

"Anything?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "No - nothing. You?" Dean shook his head. "Maybe...maybe go inside?"

Dean's look of disgust was shared by Sam, but he nodded reluctantly and walked toward the entry. Immediately, a smiling woman in a black apron approached with a tiny basket. "Well,  _hi!_ We have a huuuuge sale going on right now. Buy three things, get the fourth one free! May I help you find something?"

Dean tilted his head, sizing her up. Sam stepped on his foot.  _We're here for sneezing, not hitting on sales clerks._

_Killjoy_. "Uh...where are your candles?"

"Ohhh, right over here!" She led them to a huge display in the center of the store, which was great, because then their sneezing fits could be witnessed by everyone.  _Awesome_. "Again, these are buy three get one free! Here's a basket! Let me know if I can help you find anything else!" She pressed a wire basket into Sam's hands and disappeared into the crowd.

Dean dragged a hand down his face. "Okay, Sammy...start sniffing."

Sam huffed. "Dude, this whole store is one big scented candle. I've got nothing."

Dean's brow knitted. He picked up a green candle and checked the label.

_Christmas Wreath_

"This was the flavor in Maurice's room."

"Flavor?"

"Whatever." After an uncomfortable look around, Dean pried off the lid and stuck his face close to the wick. His eyes swiveled to Sam.  _Nothing_.

"Sniff deeper," Sam encouraged.

Dean took an impossibly large breath in. His face wrinkled up, and he scrubbed his nose.

Sam's face lit up. "You gonna sneeze?"

Dean replaced the lid. "No...it smells awful." He set the candle back down. "I don't get it. This thing drove me crazy the other day." The look of disappointment on Sam's face gnawed at Dean's insides. "Okay, fine. This trigger isn't working. Let's try the food court. I'm hungry anyway."

They stowed the basket on a counter as they exited the store, turning left and threading their way through chatty shoppers.

"There's a lot of people here," Dean grumbled.

"Well, it's Christmas time. They're all out shopping for gifts." Sam tried to sound nonplussed.

"Still a lot of people," Dean groused. "I don't like a lot of people, Sam."

Sam huffed a laugh through his nose, knowing what Dean really meant. "I know. I don't like the idea of sneezing in front of a crowd, either."

They passed a few decorative planters, filled with large, green leafy plants.

No reaction.

The fourth one, though, had lilies of all colors and sizes on display from a local botanic garden. Sam tugged on Dean's sleeve, jutting his chin at the flowers.

Dean mouthed a "Yessss…," steering them over and making a show of examining the blooms.

Nothing.

He elbowed Sam. "I tried the candle. You try the flowers."

Sam wet his lips, looking side to side. "If I was gonna react, I'd be reacting already."

Dean just stared at him.

Sam exhaled sharply. " _Fine_." He tucked his hair behind an ear (Dean snickered) and bent down.

He sniffed, glanced up at Dean, and shrugged.

Dean nudged him closer, pushing Sam's face into the petals. Powdery yellow pollen stuck to the tip of Sam's nose. He grimaced as he stood, wiping it off on his sleeve. "Thanks for that."

Dean sighed through his nose. "Had to be sure, Sam."

They continued on to the food court, making a beeline for a condiment kiosk. Each grabbed a few packets of pepper, hastily shoving them into their pockets. They ordered some food, and sat down in a corner that luckily opened up.

"So...what first? Eat or sneeze?"

Sam took a sip of his drink. "Well, we're batting a big fat zero on the sneezing, so why not try it out first so we can eat in peace?"

Sam and Dean each opened a pepper packet, gave each other a look, then brought it to their noses and sniffed.

Nothing. Not even a tickle.

Dean tossed the packet on his tray and picked up his burger. "So much for my plan."

Sam spread his napkin on his lap and shoved some fries in his mouth. "It was a good plan, Dean."

"Stop talking with your mouth full," Dean scolded, his mouth full of burger. He swallowed. "It was an  _awesome_  plan. I just can't believe it didn't work. It's like the curse knows what we're trying to do."

Sam unwrapped his sandwich. "Well, let's just focus on the case, and...I guess whenever we sneeze, we sneeze. If we can't induce it, then we just have to let it happen naturally."

"Yeah, I guess."

The rest of their meal passed in silence, shoppers bustling past their table laden with bags and trays of food.

"So...what do you want for Christmas?" Sam casually asked, balling up his wrapper and finishing his drink.

Dean looked up in surprise. "Huh?"

"Christmas. Gift giving. What do you want?"

Dean blinked. "I know what Christmas is, Sam. I meant why're you asking?"

_Sam_  blinked, feeling a blush in his cheeks. "Why do you think, jerk? I wanna get you something."

Dean was stunned. They'd never really done gifts, so he wasn't sure how to answer. Mouth open, he wracked his brain for something when a group of teenage girls bumped into the plastic plant behind Sam. Dust flitted off one of the huge leaves, drifting almost lazily onto the table.

Sam nabbed a napkin, held it poised in front of his face as the itching took over his entire face. Mouth open, his head bobbed with every inhale until one massive sneeze ripped out of him.

Sam eyed Dean over the top of the napkin now pressed to his face.

Dean slumped in his chair, shaking his head and chuckling.

**xxxxx**

The walk back past Bed, Bath and Body Works was excruciating. Well, for Dean.

The tickling started three stores down. Dean rubbed and pressed his hand against his nose, trying to make it stop. His eyes watered until he could barely see. His breathing was punctuated by breathy exhales.

But no sneezing.

And Sam?

Nothing.

Dean sniffled thickly. "How are you dot affected?"

Sam shrugged apologetically. "I don't know, Dean. How are you not sneezing yet?"

Dean shook his head, pulling out his bandana. "Albost. I feel it..."

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, right in front of the store. His head reared back, and he let loose. Sam guided him by the elbow until they were off to the side, not blocking the shopper path.

"Wow...bless you!"

Dean barely had time to glance at Sam before sneezing once more. He blew his nose, hoping that would stop the tickling. He sniffed. "Baybe we cud bove away frob the store, huh?"

"Oh! Oh shit, yeah, come on!"

Two stores later, Dean took a tentative sniff. "Okay...gone. Yeesh."

Sam shook his head. "This is crazy."

"I know. So inducing sneezing doesn't work at all."

Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, shaking his head no.

"Well. Let's call Bobby and get info on that symbol. You wanna ask him about this sneezing thing?"

"Uh, no. You were right. He'll laugh. And I'm stressed out enough."

Dean nodded in agreement, barely noticing an older woman approaching them from the entryway of a big department store.

"Hello! Take a whiff of the newest scent from Taylor Swift called Denial."

Before either brother could utter a word, she sprayed perfume right in front of them, which they both walked into, and sneezed ferociously out of.

" _Hhh'_ _ **attschch**_ _!"_

" _Hp'ET_ _ **SCHHEW**_ _!"_

Bandanas clasped over their noses, they escaped outside.

**xxxxx**

Dean griped the whole way back to the motel. Like, the whole way.

"What the fuck was she thinking? What if someone was seriously allergic to that shit? She could've really hurt someone! I mean, she didn't even apologize!"

Sam was more diplomatic, having had processing time while Dean complained. "You know, she didn't look like she knew what she was doing. It was like she was on automatic pilot or something."

That stopped Dean. "So...the curse was, what, guiding her or something?"

"Maybe? It's possible, right?  _*sniff*_  We know that we're sneezing under,  _hih_ , weird situations, so maybe," he paused to clear his throat. "Maybe the people around us are affected, doing things like,  _heh-*sniff*_ , bumping into dusty plants and stuff."

Dean looked sharply at Sam. "You're pre-sneezing over there. What's up?"

Sam sniffled. "I dunno...there's nothing  _heh_  here."

Dean started to look around, so Sam smacked his arm. "The roads are shit, Dean. Don't look for what's making me sniffle for Christ's sake. I'll be fine."

Dean growled, hands gripping the wheel tighter. "This is -  _huh...hih_ …"

Sam's eyes widened. "You, too?"

Dean just nodded, trying to keep his eyes on the road while pinching his nose shut. "Find it," he ground out.

Sam wiped his nose with his sleeve. "There's nothing here-oh-shit- _Hp'ET_ _ **SCHHEW**_ _!"_  He sneezed into the crook of his arm, noticing a nanosecond too late, a yellow powdery smear right at nose level. "Shit.  _HRSCHCHH!_ "

Dean kept tossing looks at Sam. "What? What is it?" His knuckles were pressed against his nose, nostrils twitching.

Sam sniffled, shrugging out of his jacket. "Pollen from that lily in the mall. It's on my jacket."

In one fluid movement, Dean pulled Baby to the curb and grabbed Sam's jacket, burying his nose in the yellow stuff.

Too stunned to comment, Sam's jaw dropped. He finally found his voice. "What the hell are you doing?"

Dean rubbed his nose in it. "Dammit! It was making me have to sneeze. I figured...maybe once it started, I could kind of...speed it up. But no dice."

"You're not itching anymore?"

"Nope. Are you?"

Sam scrunched his nose. "No...nothing."

Dean sighed. "Oh well. It was worth a shot." The second he tossed the jacket into the back seat, " _Eh'TSCHCH! Hp'TSCHHHCH! IH'HRSCHCH!"_  He scrubbed the pollen off his nose with his sleeve, thunking his head against the steering wheel.

Sam turned, leaning against the door but facing Dean. "So...you started to sneeze, you tried to induce, it didn't work, and the moment you gave up trying…"

"Sneeze city."

"Huh."

"Yah." Dean put the car in gear and headed back to the motel.

"Look on the bright side...we know what the sixth trigger is...perfume."

"Hoooooraaaaaaay."

**xxxxx**

They stopped at a drugstore for Kleenex, because they decided that banking on bandanas and toilet paper was stupid. The door chimed as they entered, their eyes assaulted with tinsel, candy canes and twinkling lights.

" _H'chh!"_  Sam caught that one in his sweatshirt, shivering from his lack of a coat.

Dean tossed him a look, to which Sam answered, "Lights." Dean nodded, turned on his heels and headed for the paper product aisle.

Deciding to stay put, Sam stood by the cashier line, still shivering. He bobbed his head to the beat of a Christmas song, not-so-subtly playing over the store's audio system. Before long, Sam was humming, fingers sliding over the different magazines on the shelf.

"Foooour calling birds...three french hennnns...twooooo turtle doves...and a parrrrrrtriiiiidge in a pear treeeeee." He smiled, thinking of the version with the Muppets. He made a note to look it up online when they got back to the room.

His mind wandered toward the curse, while his mouth continued to sing. "On the sixth day of sneezing, the perfume got to meeee." He chuckled to himself. That was clever. He'd have to tell Dean.

Wait...

_Shit_.

Fuck, shit,  _fuckshit_.

Twelve Days of Christmas...Twelve Days of Sneezing.

No way.

No fucking way.

That was...that was so silly. Who would...why…

Twelve. Days.

Sam just knew,  _knew_ , that was the curse.

That meant...six days to go.

He caught sight of Dean walking toward him, eyes wide. One arm clutched a three-pack of tissue boxes. The other pointed up. "You hearing this?"

Sam clenched his jaw and nodded.

Dean stopped in front of him, thrusting the tissues into Sam's arms. "I'm getting a few more boxes…"

**xxxxx**

Dean lie in bed reviewing yesterday's events. Once they figured the curse was related to the Twelve Days of Christmas, the list making began. Between them, they listed over twenty different things that could make them sneeze. Every time they added something to the list, their anxiety grew.

The rest of the day's sneezes came out between ordering dinner, asking for more blankets at the front desk, and filling up the Impala with gas.

They were now on Day Seven, with the prospect of six more triggers to go. Knowing that the curse was manipulating people and events around them didn't help, and both brothers wordlessly agreed to just return to the motel and stay there.

Dean had no idea what time it was. He didn't want to look at his phone or check the digital clock. He didn't want to sneeze. He was tired of it. Tired of the unexpected fits, tired of the control loss, tired of watching Sam worry, tired of watching himself worry. They hadn't called Bobby. They hadn't gone to the library. They hadn't checked on the church.

How the fuck were they supposed to hunt like this?

Sam stirred in his bed, yawning as he woke. "Hey...you up?"

"Yeah."

"How long?"

"Long."

Sam curled onto his left side, watching the shadow that he knew was his brother. "So. Today."

"Yeah."

Frowning, Sam decided to spring  _his_  plan onto Dean...see what he thought. "I, uh, have a plan for today."

Dean curled on his right side, watching the shadow that he knew was his brother. "Shoot."

"Stay in the room until we can talk to Bobby."

"What if it takes a while to get a hold of him?"

"Then I guess we're staying put. Inside our locked room."

"I like that plan."

**xxxxx**

It wasn't a great plan by any stretch of the imagination. If the curse knew manipulation tactics, surely it knew avoidance tactics.

That's what Sam told himself as he returned to a diligent search for the weird symbol. But stress from the curse was starting to take its toll on Dean, so Sam invented this ridiculous plan in hopes that staying put for a little while would help Dean relax a little.

**xxxxx**

The plan was fucking stupid, because the curse would know exactly what they were doing. But Dean didn't want to shit on Sam's idea parade, so sit in the room they did, researching the symbol, researching curses matching the Twelve Days of Christmas, looking up the address for that coven church, and waiting for Bobby to call them back.

Sam's frustration and anxiety level were running high, and Dean was worried about his brother. If this helped Sam relax, then Dean was all for it.

**xxxxx**

When the inevitable sneezing finally began, both brothers were kind of...okay with it. The quiet, downtime in the room actually helped both of them relax, focus on the hunt, and accept that they'd be sneezing quite a bit more for the next six days.

" _Hih'chh! Heh'shht!"_  Dean opened his laptop.

Someone knocked on their door, and Sam answered it. It was a woman, thinking their room was her room...and she reeked of perfume. " _Heh'tschchchhh-uhhh!_ "

When Dean's phone rang, Sam reached for it because Dean was in the bathroom and Bobby's name flashed on the screen. " _Ha'atchoo!"_

" _Bless you!"_

" _EHHHHH-TSHHCHUH!_ "

" _Jesus, son, you sound terrible!"_

Sam sniffled, relieved that the light only prompted two sneezes. "Hey Bobby, it's Sam. I'm fine, just...yeah, I'm fine." He pulled out his notebook, adding a checkmark under his name next to  _bright light._

" _That didn't sound fine at all, Sam."_

"Trust me Bobby...that was nothing. Did you find anything on the symbol?"

Dean came out of the bathroom. Sam tapped his notebook, showing Dean that he sneezed, to which Dean gave him a thumbs up. Sam set the phone on the table and put the audio to speaker.

" _I thought that symbol looked familiar. It's a combo platter symbol for witches involved in an Eclectic Coven."_

"I  _knew_  it was witches," Dean muttered. "Wait, an electric oven?"

Sam briefly closed his eyes, willing patience. "No, an Eclectic. Coven. What's their deal, Bobby?"

" _Wellp, they don't deal with demons at all, instead bonding with Mother Earth. Like the name suggests, witches of all sorts can gather in an Eclectic Coven, so kitchen witches, hearth witches, tech witches - "_

"Wait, a tech witch? As in technology?"

"Yup."

"How the hell is that a witch type?"

" _I dunno, Sam, I don't have_ _The Idiot's Guide to Owning a Coven_   _in my library. I just know it's a type."_

Dean moved his jacket so he could sit down. A packet of pepper from the day before slid out and onto the table, popping open.

"Oh, Jesus-Christ- _Mphphphew!_ "

" _Bless you!"_

"Thanks."

Sam checked off  _pepper_  next to Dean's name. "All the victims were a part of a church group that supposedly did charity work. They were pretty popular in town...known for fundraising and volunteering." He tried to clean up the spill while Dean blew his nose. " _Hehp'tschew!_ " He sniffled, sighed, then checked  _pepper_  next to  _his_  name.

There was a pause on the phone. " _Bless_ _ **you**_ _. Anyway, that scenario fits the big picture all right. Eclectic Covens can have good witches."_

Dean interrupted, "No such thing." Holding his breath, he swept the pepper into his hand, and washed it down the drain.

Bobby chuckled. " _Well, actually, there is a good and bad witch scenario out there, where evil witches work with demons and good witches try n' bank powers off the earth and nature. Some magic is innate, some is learned. It's more that we don't hear about the good ones, because they ain't out there causing trouble."_

Sam tapped the pen against his chin. "So...we think this coven is killing the witches or witch wannabes that try to leave. Which...isn't really a good witch scenario. Can we kill them the normal way? I mean...is there anything special about them?"

They pictured Bobby pulling off his cap and scratching his head. " _Nothin' special that I know of. They're a weirder bunch, so expect the unexpected. But I'm thinking that if you kill whoever's the leader, the others will disband. You know, standard coven shit."_

Sam nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Thanks, Bobby. That'll make this easier."

" _No problem. Anything else?"_

The boys looked at each other. Sam squirmed a little, then stammered, "Yeah...uhm...what, uh...I mean…"

Dean cut in. "We're all good, Bobby. Thanks a ton. We'll stop by when we're done here, if that's okay."

" _Of course it's okay. I was hoping to see you on Christmas, or at least near it. You sure you don't need anything else?"_

"Nope! That was it. See you soon." Dean hung up.

"Dean! Why'd you do that?"

Dean dragged a hand down his face. "Dude, there's nothing out there on sneezing curses and you know it. All there is, is lore about superstitions around sneezing, where people thought your soul escaped when you sneezed or that demons could possess you after you sneeze. Other than that, there's nothing. Besides...I don't...he'll...I dunno what we did to get cursed. What if it affects him?"

Sam raised an eyebrow.  _Try again._

Dean puffed out a breath. "Fine. I'm stressed out enough. Knowin' that he's laughing about it...I don't need that right now."

Sam tried to use reason. "Dean. He'd only laugh, because this whole thing is ridiculous, and you know it. If it happened to anyone else, you'd be on the floor laughing."

"Yeah, I know. But it's not someone else, it's us."  _It's you_. "And I just...I wanna focus on us rather than worry about what other people are thinking."

**xxxxx**

Speaking of what other people were thinking…

Bobby stared at the phone and sighed. It figured that his boys managed to get sick on Christmas. They wanted to finish the hunt, sure, but chances were they needed a place to crash for a while afterwards. Well, he had about a week until Christmas. Plenty of time to stock up on supplies, food, and order the new tires for the Impala (which was really for Dean) and that iPad thing for Sam.

**xxxxx**

"So now what?" Sam asked. "We still have a bunch of triggers left, and sitting here hasn't stopped the sneezing at all."

"Yeah, I noticed. Well, we can check out that church, I guess. See what we can find." The look on Sam's face prompted Dean to ask, "What? I thought you wanted to do something."

"I do! It's just...we can't help sneezing, and we can't stop sneezing once we start. If we're snooping around…" He splayed his hands. "We're fucked if we sneeze at the wrong time."

Dean waved him off. "So we stifle. Or hold it in."

"Dean. Holding it in won't work. You know that."

"Yeah, well stifling is still technically sneezing, just quieter. So we'll stifle instead."

Sam shook his head, hanging it against his chest.

"What?"

"You're always looking for a bright side."  _For me._

"Damn straight, I am."  _For you._

**xxxxx**

The temperature dropped significantly by the time they were ready to leave. The snow sparkled, crunching under their boots as they made their way to the car. When the engine woke, Sam cranked the heat. Cold air rushed his face, ruffling his hair.

Without warning, Sam sneezed twice, his face buried in his arm. He lowered it, taking an experimental sniff while redirecting the vent.

"So. Air in your face."

Sam sniffed again, pulling out the notebook. "Air in my face," he repeated, scribbling as he spoke. "Check."

"Nice. Never occured to me. While you have that thing open, what's left for today? I lost count."

Clearing his throat, Sam read from the notebook. "For you, dust, candles, plants, perfume and now I guess wind." Dean snorted. "For me, also dust, candles, and plants."

"You're two up on me?"

"Looks like." He tucked the book into his pocket.

"So much to look forward to. Can't wait." He put the car in reverse, and pulled away.

The sun had set by the time they reached the church, which, Dean reasoned, was even better, because chances were - no one would be there. The building was dark and the parking lot empty, showing signs of having been plowed recently.

Dean parked a couple blocks away, forcing a snow-crunching walk back to the church. He turned up his collar, grimacing at the steam coming out of his mouth. "I hate the cold. When we retire, I wanna move somewhere warm."

"Somewhere with bikinis and drinks with little umbrellas?"

"Don't judge, Sammy."

It was barely dinnertime, but breaking and entering always evoked a sense of  _late night._  By the time they reached the back door, shivering and teeth chattering were a constant. It took Sam a minute to pick the lock (he was shaking too hard), and they hurried inside once the door swung open.

The building was definitely warmer. Cold hands and toes tingled, noses began to run, and Dean's breath began to hitch. "Sam…" he whispered. " _Hiiih_...something in here... _heh_...do you feel it?"

Sam shook his head no, swiveling to find the source. Dean shoved his wrist under his nose, trying to blink away the itching.

Sam leaned close. "Don't fight it. Just...sneeze and get it over with. Stifle, like you said."

Rolling his eyes, Dean scrubbed his wrist back and forth, until he coaxed one out.

Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Bless you!" He whispered. "You okay?"

Dean nodded, wrist still shoved under his nose. "What was it?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair, looking around again. "I dunno. I couldn't - oh, wait." He walked over to a shelf, where a lone candle sat. He picked it up, peeking at the label stuck to the bottom. "Juniper Delight."

Dean sniffed, giving his nose one last swipe and muttering in a low voice. "Fantastic. I'm catching up to you."

They pulled out their flashlights. Before turning them on, Dean grabbed Sam's wrist. Sam looked over expectantly, raising his eyebrows.  _What?_

Dean wiggled his flashlight, then pantomimed sneezing. Sam made a checkmark in the air. Dean mouthed, "Ahhhh, right," and they switched the little lights on.

They were in a hallway, that luckily had carpeting to muffle wet footsteps. Guns out, they crept forward, eyes darting everywhere for signs of witches and triggers. Tension was high, and Sam swore that if there  _were_  witches in the building, they would easily hear his heartbeat.

The hallway opened into a small alcove, where a large room sat to the right, the front door straight ahead, and a small room to the left. The large room was filled with chairs and a couple tables. Shelves lined one wall, filled with books and some odd pottery pieces. The windows were up high, so they could walk through the room without being seen from the street, with enough light from a street lamp allowing them to turn off the flashlights.

"There's no...you know...where does the praying happen?" Dean asked, lazily wandering through the room. Clearly, no one was there, but they spoke in soft voices all the same. He wondered if the shelves were filled with dust, then quickly shoved that question out of his head. If he thought it, he wouldn't sneeze, and while he had mixed thoughts about sneezing right then, screwing around with the curse wasn't something he felt like doing.

Sam bit his lip. "No clue." He walked over to examine the books. "These are the classics - Tom Sawyer, Tale of Two Cities, Cat In The Hat," They shared a look at that one. "Oh hey, War and Peace."

Dean closed his eyes for patience. "Sam. Stop gawking at the witch's reading list."

" _Heh'tschhhit!"_  was his reply.

Dean sighed. "Dust?"

"Yeah. C'mon - there's another door here."

They stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons ready. Sam mouthed counting to three, flung it open, and Dean immediately sneezed a triple when cold air rushed into the room.

The new hallway loomed dark and drafty. Cautiously, they entered, carefully closing the door behind them after making sure it was unlocked. Flashlights clicked back on, and Dean muttered, "Have I mentioned how this curse is stupid?"

"Do tell."

"It's hard to stifle when they catch you off guard like that."

"Gee, if only one of us thought of that sooner."

"I'm cutting your hair tonight."

"Mmm-hm."

Beams of light bounced off dirt lined walls. The air felt wet, deepening the chill that seeped through their jackets.

"How far do you think this goes?" Sam asked.

Dean flicked the light into Sam's eyes, making him flinch. "No clue. Like you, I just got here."

Fifteen feet later, Dean stopped. "Um. The church isn't this big. Where the hell are we going?"

Turning around, they shined their lights back up the hallway, only to discover that they'd been walking  _down_. The hallway was actually a ramp.

"It didn't seem that steep," Sam muttered, irritated that he missed something as important as descending underground.

"No...it didn't…" Dean's tone turned thoughtful, his light bobbing from behind to in front of them. "Well, we're moving forward. Come on."

Eventually, the ramp banked to the right, and the ground became...squishy.

"What. The. Fuck." Dean tapped his toe in the muck, grunting at the squelchy sound. "Please tell me this is water. Please please please."

Sam bent down, his light reflecting on the wet earth. "Looks like...just regular mud."

"More fantastic. Come on."

It wasn't long before the muck covered their feet, soaking their jeans and seeping up the fabric.

"I think it's in my boots."

"I  _know_  it's in my boots."

"Hold on…I see something." Sam shined his light at the floor. "Holy shit."

"Is that - "

" _Krschhh!_  Ragweed."

"How is that even -  _H'aschhht!_ "

"Possible?  _Hih'mphhphew!_  I dunno," Sam gasped. "Try it -  _Heschhhew!_ "

"Try  _H'schhshh!_  What?"

Sam motioned with his hands. "The stifling thing  _He'escchhhew!_ "

" _Hp-ngt!"_

" _Itschgt!"_

Dean sniffed angrily. "We could also just keep fucking moving, Sab."

_Oh, right._

Three steps past the offending plant, the sneezing stopped. On a whim, Sam turned to check on the plant. "Dean - the plant. It's gone."

"Huh?" Dean turned, also shining his light. "Sonofabitch. Come on."

The ground gave way to more water than mud, soaking their feet, making them shiver as they walked. The hallway suddenly widened, ending at a door.

...With voices on the other side.

"We need to be at that stupid Christmas party in ten minutes."

Dean tilted his head. The woman's voice sounded familiar.

A man spoke, "You look beautiful." Next came a faint  _whishing_  sound, followed by humming.

What the hell?

"Ready?"

"Absolutely. Lock up. We're done here for the night."

Panic flooded Sam, thinking they were going to leave this way. But he heard another door slam shut, and realized...if they were going to a party, they wouldn't walk through eons of mud to get there.

Dean's flashlight bobbed. "Open the door. They're gone."

Sam reached for the doorknob, then stopped. "We can't go in there...we're covered in mud. They'll know someone was here."

Dean sighed. "Take your boots off, Sam."

Sam blinked. "Oh."

He opened the door, and a tart smelling perfume filled the air. At the same time, the voices returned. "Hurry up and grab it! We're going to be late!"

Sam twisted the knob, shut the door, and placed one hand over his heart to steady the wild beating. Thank God he already had perfume hit him. Otherwise he'd be...sneezing...with witches...on the other side of the...oh shit... _Dean…_

Sam looked over at his brother, and panic flared. Leaning against the wall, ignoring the wet and the cold, Dean struggled to cope with the onslaught of perfume. His flashlight dangled from one hand, which Sam snatched before it fell into the muck. Eyes clenched shut, Dean's irregular breathing made Sam's nose twitch in sympathy.

Pocketing the flashlights, Sam knew they couldn't move away. The squelching would alert the witches to their presence, and given Dean's current state, that left Sam to deal with both on his own.

Not ideal.

Dean fumbled in his pockets for a Kleenex or bandana, but the cold and his hitching made movements clumsy, and the tissues fell into the mud, rendering them useless.

He didn't even notice, bringing empty hands in front of his nose, trying to anticipate when he'd finally sneeze.

Sam clamped his own bandana on Dean's face, whispering frantically, "Try to hold it in...just until they leave!"

Dean had enough control to give Sam a withering look, lost in the darkness. Taking the bandana, he pressed it hard against his quivering nose, each inhale more ragged and breathy than the last.

"Where is it?"

"How should I know? Hurry up!"

Dean's voice rose slightly in pitch with each breath, matching Sam's ramped up nerves.

There was no way Dean could stifle...this one was simply beyond him. Dean's hand grabbed Sam's arm.  _Gonna lose it…_

"Here it is! Come on!"

A door slammed.

Dean sneezed into the bandana. He  _tried_  to sneeze quietly...

But each was forceful, almost violent.

All Sam could do was steady him so he didn't fall on his ass in the mud, wincing at every release. He could hear each sneeze grate on Dean's throat, as he tried to contain sneezes that did not want to be contained.

Sam stopped counting after six. Finally, Dean sagged against Sam, trying to catch his breath.

" _Ngggghh_...holy...shit…" He wiped his nose, tried to straighten, but ended up falling back against Sam, who held him up as best as he could.

"Jesus Christ...are you okay?"

Still panting, Dean nodded, flapping a hand at Sam. "Jus' sneezin', right? No biggie. Jus'...whooo...That was somethin'..."

Sam huffed, resting his head on Dean's shoulder. "You scared the shit outta me."

Dean awkwardly reached up to pat Sam on the head. "Hey…'m okay…'member...jus' sneezin'." He took a deep breath and stood, swaying a little. He reached out to steady himself against the wall. "I'm good...come on...open the door and let's...see what's inside."

Sam took a second to run his fingers through his hair, then cracked open the door to peer inside. He opened it wider and clicked on his flashlight.

This room looked like a witch's headquarters. Tables loaded with ancient looking books, bowls, bottles, and baggies of stuff filled the room. Archaic instruments lined the walls, an altar stood in the center, candles were scattered everywhere, and above it all, on the ceiling, was that symbol, painted in...neon green.

They both wrinkled their noses at that.

"Alright...so...witches. Let's get back to the motel. I'm done." Dean motioned for Sam to shut the door, and together they made their way back up the hallway.

When they reached the original door, they eyeballed their feet and sighed. Reluctantly, they took off their boots and socks, retracing their steps to the back door, careful not to leave mud or wet footprints on the floor.

Out of nowhere, Sam pitched forward with a sudden, thunderous sneeze, rattling Dean's ears.

"Sam!" he hissed.

But Sam couldn't hear him. He was too busy sneezing again. He stumbled forward, bumping into the wall, rattling the shelves, which sent dust into the air.

Dean sneezed. " _Sam!"_

Sam looked up, eyes bleary, ears ringing, head pounding from the force. "Sorry…the candle..."

Dean took one look at Sam's Eyes, and caved. "It's okay. Just...let's get out of here."

They had to put their boots on outside, in the freezing cold. It took another couple minutes to cover the mud and their footprints (Dean decided to shovel the walkway with a shovel conveniently leaning against the steps).

While Dean shoveled, Sam snuffled in his coat, shivering uncontrollably. "Look on the bright side."

Dean scowled at him, but waited for the follow up.

"We're done sneezing for today."

**xxxxx**

_**Continued in the next chapter...** _


	4. Chapter 4

_**Part 4...** _

Seven days of the curse returned the brothers to a rhythm not felt in months. It became routine.

They walked into a diner the next morning for breakfast, ready to plan a whole day of research.

A large heater hummed near the door, blowing warm air on chilly customers. Dean blandly handed over a tissue, which Sam smoothly took and promptly sneezed into, twice, while Dean smiled at the waitress. "Table for two, please."

While Dean read the menu, Sam watched a baby grab a pepper shaker from her table and fling its contents into the air. "Bless you," he warned. Dean smothered a triple into the crook of his arm, nodding a thanks and resuming his inner debate over pancakes or waffles.

"The library is actually pretty decent," Sam commented, "we should find enough historical records about the building and stuff."

"Good. Something about that coven HQ seemed off...but then again, I wasn't exactly at my best."

Sam's leg bounced under the table, thoughts of being unable to protect his brother when he may need it running through his mind. Swallowing down coffee, he refocused on the weird room. "The room was kinda...over the top, don't you think? And seriously, a neon green symbol?"

"Yeah, I dunno what that was about, either. Eat your oatmeal and let's go. And really, oatmeal? What are you, seventy?"

The sneezing was taking a toll on Sam's throat. Oatmeal seemed easier to manage than anything else. But he wasn't going to give Dean something else to worry about, so he just shrugged. "It's good for you. Wouldn't hurt you to eat a little healthier."

Dean frowned at his plate of pancakes, covered in butter and syrup. "What are you talking about?"

Sam laughed. "Apparently, nothing."

Dean winked at him and tucked into his breakfast. The pancakes were soft and warm, easy on his throat which was now a little sore after last night's fit. He could keep up the facade of ignorant optimism. He'd been doing it since Sam was one. He just wasn't going to give Sam something else to worry about.

**xxxxx**

The library sat on a ravine, wall to wall windows on the main floor, covered in frost and reflecting sunlight into the parking lot.

Sam sneezed as they pulled in. Dean sneezed once the car was parked. They blessed each other and stepped into the cold.

A large space heater greeted them at the door. Sam blandly handed over a tissue, which Dean promptly sneezed into, twice, while Sam smiled at a librarian. "Where are your historical records?"

It's not the first three stacks of files and books covered in the fluffy stuff that got them. It was the fourth, Dean stifling into his bandana, Sam sneezing into a handful of tissues.

When a toddler ran past with a McDonald's bag, shrieking and waving it around while his mother chased him, it was like the scene moved in slow motion. Dean watched the bag jostle back and forth as the mother scooped the child into her arms, the bag's contents flying through the air.

Without a word, he slid the tissue box across the table, bouncing it off Sam's chest. Sam had two in his hands before the pepper even touched him, sneezing wetly into the cloud, breathless once the fit passed.

"Something seem weird to you?" Dean asked, eyeballing the mom to make sure the kid was dragged far away.

Sam blew his nose. "More than normal weird? More than sneezing our heads off all day every day for twelve days?"

"More like, embedded within."

"Explain."

"We're either sneezing together or from the same things."

"We're always sneezing from the same things, Dean. There's only one list we're working off of."

Dean shook his head, shoving a file of old photos to the side. "Not what I mean. Like, I sneezed from a heater by a door, and so did you. I sneezed from a kid throwing pepper, and so did you. We both sneezed from the same light and dust. Like that."

Sam brow furrowed, his leg bouncing once more. "Huh."

"Exactly."

"Doesn't matter, though. The curse is still there. So...I dunno...if we're sneezing in sync and from similar scenarios, maybe we can sneeze it all out sooner rather than later."

"Like we could cut a break like that." Dean jutted his chin at Sam's stack of papers. "What'd you find out?"

Sam sat up. "Well...okay. The 'church'," he used air quotes, "used to be an old schoolhouse, back in the 1940s before it was closed down. A Mrs. Recliff was the teacher for about twenty-five years, until a scandal got her fired."

Dean twirled a finger in the air for excitement.

"Yeah. Apparently, get this, she was accused of - "

"Sleeping with the kids?"

"Dean!"

Dean held up his hands. "Gimme something interesting to listen to, Sam."

Shaking his head, Sam read from a piece of paper, "She was accused of 'partaking in and of the occult, influencing her young charges to succumb to the powers of evil.' "

Dean pursed his lips. "Kinda harsh, ain't it?"

Sam shrugged, putting that paper aside and picking up another one. "Someone else documented that she was supposed to be thrown out of town, but when police went to her home, she was gone."

"What was her name again?"

Sam glanced at the first paper. "Recliff…"

Dean tapped his finger against the table. "That name sounds familiar. Hold on…" He hunted through what looked like a yearbook. "Yahtzee!" He swiveled the book toward Sam. "Second row, fifth one in."

Sam's eyes widened. "Holy shit…" He tracked the names underneath until he got to the fifth one in the second row. "Maybelline Recliff…"

Dean spun the book back around. "Yup. Little Miss Bitch is a lot older than she looks."

"So...how'd she hook up with Caron Milton?"

"No idea. But that old broad who answered the door might know."

Sam bit his lip. "I don't know, Dean. If Maybelline's a witch, she's probably really powerful. Everyone in that house could be in on it."

"And?"

Sam huffed. "And that house is toxic to us right now."

Dean considered that. "You got a point, there. You have a better idea?"

"Recheck that room. It wasn't in the actual church, so let's look at a city map and try to figure out where we really were."

"Good thinking. I'll grab a map."

**xxxxx**

Careful analysis of the map, when Dean wasn't connecting the buildings to make obscene pictures, showed they walked through the muddy tunnel two blocks west. There was a choice of two houses they could've been in, depending on whether they were a little off on direction or distance.

They changed into warm clothes, and packed extra socks and pants to stow in the Impala in case there was another mud pit to wade through. ("Wet crotch is only good in certain situations, Sammy. Last night wasn't one of them.")

A drive-by showed that one of the houses was for sale, looking vacant and lonely. The other had a lawn full of...snowmen. All decorated and built in various poses. Some were playing catch, two were building another snowman (weird…), others were gathered around a decorated fir tree.

"That's...uh…" Dean was at a loss for words.

"Agreed. Let's grab dinner then check out the empty house."

When they returned, they parked a block away and walked down the street to the empty house. As they approached, Dean tugged on Sam's sleeve. "Hey...do you remember that snowman earlier?"

Sam looked over. A three-sphered snowman sat a little ways off from the others, and it was looking right at them. Their steps slowed. "Uh...no...but...I mean, we could've missed it…"

Dean shook his head. "It's kinda...creepy looking. Pretty sure I would've remembered it."

They hurried to the back door, Dean keeping watch as Sam picked the lock. Dean half expected the snowman to slither into the backyard, ready to murder them with stick arms. "Hurry up, Sam." He bounced on his heels. He reached a new high to be nervous about getting ganked by a snowman.

"It's freezing out, Dean. I'm going as fast as I can." The lock clicked and the door swung open. Sam pocketed his tools and gestured with a flourish for Dean to enter.

Dean blew him a kiss, and went inside.

Sam shut the door behind them before looking around. They were in the kitchen, which had appliances, cabinets and counters, but nothing more. The place was definitely empty. Still, breaking and entering was a quiet activity, so Dean motioned for Sam to check out the first floor while Dean checked the upstairs.

A terse nod later, they split up to search the house.

Five minutes later, they regrouped in the living room.

"Anything?" Dean asked, his voice low.

Sam shook his head. "Totally empty. You?"

"Nothin'."

"Basement it is, then. Come on."

Guns out, they crept down the stairs, on full alert. At the bottom, still nothing.

"We need to find something, Sam. All this adrenaline is going to waste."

Sam pointed. "How about that?"

In the far corner was another door, marked with the same symbol as the coven.

"It'll do."

Just as Dean reached for the handle, Sam grabbed his wrist. "Wait. How long has it been since we sneezed?"

"What?"

"Our last sneeze. When was it?"

"In the library. You and the pepper. Why?" Then Dean's face fell. "Oh."

"Yeah, we could get slammed."

Dean toyed with the handle before dropping his hand to his side. "So what do we do? Not go in there? Not investigate? We can't control this thing, Sam, so what difference does it make? We could sneeze from all eight triggers before ten in the morning, or after ten at night."

"I know, but - "

"But nothing. The only other option is to hand this over to someone else. You wanna make that call? Ask another hunter to finish the job because we're sneezing uncontrollably sometimes?"

"You make it sound so stupid instead of being a real threat."

Dean's tone softened. "It's both, Sam. You gotta accept that. I know this worries you, okay? I get it. I'm worried about it, too. I'm also worried about the snowman that marked us on the front lawn and this little tart that's killing people in town. I'll keep you safe if the curse hits. I promise."

Sam rolled his eyes. "We'll keep  _each other_  safe, you mean."

"Yeah, that's what I said."

Dean turned and pulled the handle. He thumped Sam in the chest and stepped into the witch's room from last night. Candles were lit around the room. In unison, they sneezed once, braced for more, but none came.

"Dean...check this out." The torture artifacts hanging from the walls were made of cheap plastic. Some of the paint was even peeling away.

"What the hell…" Dean muttered. He picked up a wooden mortar and pestle, flipping it upside down. He snorted. "Hey, Sam...lookit this." He held it up, waggling. "From Wal-Mart. Two ninety-nine. Tag's still on it." He rubbed his nose almost absently.

Vials and jars filled with various liquids caught Sam's attention. He opened one and sniffed, almost afraid it was a jar of ragweed. "It's...it's fruit preserves. What's going on?"

Dean chuckled a bit, setting the bowl back on the table. "I dunno, but this is a pile of bullshit. Someone's playing...playing-witch- _-"_ He broke off, sneezing once, openly.

Sam's eyebrows rose. "Perfume from last night?"

Dean blinked a few times, sniffling. "Think so. Anything?"

Sam sniffed. "No...nothing. Maybe it - "

"I want to know what happened to Caron!"

Both boys jumped at the voice from last night, heading down the stairs of the empty house. Sam spied yet another door, yanked it open, and thrust Dean inside.

A closet. They were hiding in a  _closet_.

And not an empty one.

And not a tall one.

Crouching under coats, they tried to hear the voices over their own breathing.

The woman entered the room, the sound of heels clicking on the floor painting a picture of her in their minds. She sounded pissed. "This is a silly club, Samuel. How is it that four people have died?"

"I dunno, Marla. Maybe...maybe we're actually doing something."

Even though he couldn't see Dean, Sam still looked in his direction. Both voices sounded familiar, he just couldn't place them.

"Oh, shut up. There's no such thing as witchcraft."

"Then why are all the kids thinking snowmen did it? How come only the members we pretended to curse died? They actually  _died_ , Marla!"

Marla sighed. "I know, Samuel. I...I don't understand it, either. What about those federal agents? They find anything yet?"

"Haven't heard from them in a while. I think I pissed one of them off with my stupid sheriff act."

Dean's sharp intake of air told Sam that the poor sheriff was gonna get punched, soon.

"Where'd you put the box?"

"Closet."

_Fuck!_

Both brothers scrambled to crawl further inside, as quiet as possible. They huddled uncomfortably, storage items poking them in the back and ass.

Sam swatted at something brushing against his face, straining to hear the conversation in the room. The  _thing_  was back, soft and delicate, in his nose, mouth, eyes. He reached up, and realized it was a fur coat, hanging down right in front of him. He pushed it aside, causing the velvety fabric to brush the tip of his nose.

The effect was instantaneous. Frantic hands clamped his nostrils tight, Sam silently stifling the sneeze that almost gave away their presence. As soon as he let go of the coat, it swung back again into his face, fibers floating everywhere, finding their way past his fingers, into his nose. He rocked forward with another silent stifle, aware that his eyes watered and his nose ran. He didn't dare reach for his bandana, and he couldn't sniffle.

He was stuck.

**xxx**

Something poked Dean in the mouth when they settled in their new spot at the back of the closet. He spit it out, only to have it snap back and hit him in the nose. It was an enormous feather, affixed to the top of a frilly hat.

Reflexes took over and Dean clamped down on his nose, but the feather was still there. Removing one hand to yank the feather out of his face was the break in concentration the curse needed, and Dean's head snapped forward, stifling the sneeze into silence, inwardly groaning at the pressure. His eyes watered, his nose ran, there was no room to go rooting through pockets for a tissue.

He was stuck.

**xxx**

Light flooded the little closet as either Samuel or Marla opened the door. Both brothers froze, sneezes threatening to spill forth if they so much as moved.

"Where did you put it, Marla?"

Marla sighed. "I'll grab it. Move over."

Marla bent into the closet, rooting through the shelves above the boys' heads. Perfume from the night before wafted into the little space, sharp and tangy. Sam, breathing through his mouth, could taste the foul spray. When the door closed, Sam jumped, accidentally taking a very small breath in...through his nose.

The itching became a slow burn. He needed that bandana. Taking a chance, Sam shifted enough so he could pull the cloth out of his pocket and shove it against his nose. When Sam shifted, Dean had enough room to grab his.

They looked like a pair of bandits, hiding in the closet.

They didn't care.

The rest of Samuel and Marla's conversation was lost, as Sam silently pitched forward, stifling sneeze after sneeze. With a free hand, Dean pulled Sam's head onto his shoulder, letting him rub his nose back and forth to help fight the sensation. Dean didn't care about the witches anymore - he was more concerned with his brother's inability to draw a breath.

He did catch Marla saying, "Fine. I'll call a meeting for tomorrow. We'll disband the group." Then a door slammed.

The sound served as a gunshot at the start of a race. Sam let the sneezes out, breathless and whispery, but one after the other. When he finally finished, he kept his head on Dean's shoulder, and Dean kept his free hand on the back of Sam's head, the other wiping his eyes and nose with his own bandana.

"Stifling didn't do it, huh?" Dean whispered.

Sam huffed a laugh between breaths, shaking his head no. "Bade it worse."

Dean sighed. "Figures. Let's get outta the closet, Sam."

Sam snorted a laugh, untangling himself from Dean and edging toward the door. He listened a moment to make sure the room was empty before opening it and crawling out.

Once noses were dry, they shoved the bandanas back in their pockets. Dean grimaced, glancing at his shoulder. "Gotta do laundry tonight."

Sam wasn't listening. "Dean - look."

On a table was a box...identical to the one they found in the basement. The latch was undone.

"Dammit - I forgot that thing was sitting in the trunk. We didn't ask Bobby about it."

Sam looked around. "That must be what they were looking for. If the latch isn't...latched…"

Dean strode over and opened the lid. "Huh."

"What is it?" Sam joined him, staring at the contents.

Jewelry.

A few necklaces, some bracelets, rings, random brooches and hair ornaments.

And one dried rose.

Two quick sneezes (one each) later, Sam walked back to the closet and looked inside. It was filled with costumes - fur coats, feathered hats, masks, cloaks, dresses, capes. "Jesus...it's a prop room."

"And this is just a stupid jewelry box. What the hell, Sam?"

"I know. And based on what they were saying, they are just as confused by the deaths as we are."

"Did you place Marla's voice? We know Samuel is the sheriff."

"Not really - but it's familiar. By the way…" Sam waved a hand at all the stuff in the closet. "Which one got you?"

"A fucking feather. You?"

"Fur coat."

"So trigger eight is fur and feathers? Is that supposed to be an animal thing?"

Sam pulled on his chin, closing the closet door. "The coat actually touched my nose - got right in there. It literally tickled me until I sneezed. It wasn't an allergic reaction."

Dean's face fell. "Okay, the feather got into  _my_  nose, which is why  _I_  sneezed. So I guess animals are still a potential."

They made whoopie gestures at each other.

"So the coven theory is bupkis. We're back to square one," Dean griped, closing the jewelry box and heading to leave.

"Not exactly," Sam said. "We still have Maybelline Recliff, the seventy year-old snotty kid. She's the one we need to figure out."

"Thank god you're the smart one."

"Why?"

"So I can be the pretty one."

**xxxxx**

The original box sat on the table, patiently waiting for someone to figure out how to undo the latch.

Dean broke the silence. "I'm gonna smash it."

"Dean!  _No!_ We don't know what's inside!"

"I'm banking on more jewelry."

"But we don't know that for sure. Just... _hold on._ "

Sam pulled the box to his side of the table, giving Dean an exasperated look (to which Dean responded with a shrug) before taking a closer look at the latch. "Okay...I don't think the latch is what opens the box."

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it. Nothing in the past week had been normal, so he shut up and motioned for Sam to continue.

"There's a divot here...and here...in the wood. I'm thinking something's supposed to go in it, and then the box will open."

"And that something is…?"

Sam's mouth cinched to the side. "Not sure. Could be an object, but then it'd have to fit in that small space perfectly. I'm thinking something else, like maybe a liquid."

"Someone's supposed to spit on the box?"

Sam's eyes crawled up to his brother's. "I was thinking more like blood."

"Oh. Yeah. Blood sounds better."

"The owner of the box would have the blood we need."

"Time to visit Maurice, then."

**xxxxx**

Maurice didn't blink an eye when Dean asked for a sample of Mike Baron's blood.

Mumbling to himself, Dean couldn't even gloat on his way back to the car. "No fuss, no fight, no argument,  _nothing_."

When he got in, Sam asked, "Did you sneeze?"

"Thrice. And yes, I got the blood, thanks for asking."

Sam marked in his notebook. "Never doubted the blood getting. Wasn't sure about the sneezing. Alrighty." He tapped the book as he spoke. "We sneezed when you opened the curtains and unwrapped the box. You sneezed from candles, and I  _K'hrschh! *sniff*_  apparently smell candles on you."

"Look at all the stuff we do together, now. It's kinda cute."

"There are a million other things I'd rather do with you than sneezing like this."

Dean put the car in reverse. Under his breath, he muttered, "Yeah, but this is better than nothing."

Sam chewed on his pen, silently agreeing.

**xxxxx**

On the ride back to the motel, Sam's phone rang. "Hello? … Really? … Where?" He jotted something in his notebook, then clicked his pen shut. "We'll be right there."

"What is it?" Dean asked once Sam hung up.

"That was the sheriff's department. Got a new victim."

"Oh yeah? Who?

"The sheriff."

**xxxxx**

They pulled in front of the sheriff's house. Various police cars were already on the scene. They walked up to the porch, noticing a sign that read:

_Attack Chihuahua On Premises - Enter At Your Own Peril_

Dean tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck. "Animals. I  _knew_  it."

Sam wondered how it would work. If the sheriff... _Samuel_...had a dog, then the dog was probably everywhere in the house. Would they just sneeze and be fine, or would they continue sneezing as long as they were exposed to the trigger?

They stepped inside, flashing their badges. An officer directed them to the body, which was still in the kitchen.

Dean waited for the sneezing. He didn't want to jinx the curse (!), but he didn't want to be unprepared for an onslaught of dander sneezes, either. However, being in the house didn't seem to phase him. He stole a glance at Sam, who shook his head. Nothing.

_Hmmm…_

The sight of Samuel's body, rigid and straight in a chair at the table, paused the brothers for a moment. Pale blue skin shimmered as frost crystals sparkled over the entire body.

"What the hell…" Dean murmured, moving close to examine it.

"Don't touch it!" an officer snapped.

Dean slowly swiveled toward the officer, his expression broadcasting  _No Shit, Sherlock_. The man backed off, and Dean continued to check out the body. No weapon marks, no sign of a struggle, no nothing.

Just...frozen solid in the middle of his house...twinkling like a Christmas tree.

He spun around to Sam, a mischievous look on his face. "Hey...good thing we sneezed from light earlier, huh, Sammy? Could you imagine - "

Sam returned a flat look and kicked him. Dean nodded, sobering up and resuming the examination.

Sam checked the kitchen itself. Nothing looked out of place. A few dirty dishes sat in the sink, and half of a cold cup of what looked like coffee was on the table in front of the sheriff.

They shared a look that said,  _of all the fucked up shit we've dealt with, this ranks up there._

"Let me see him! I need to see him!"

Dean's eyes narrowed. It was Marla.

When she bolted into the kitchen and broke down sobbing, they realized...Marla was the cigarette lady from Caron Milton's house.

Dean scrubbed a hand down his cheek, clearly exhausted from the entire case.

"Um...ma'am?" Sam asked hesitantly. It didn't feel right to call her Marla since she had no idea how they knew her name.

A teary-eyed Marla looked up, and gasped. "You're here! Thank God!" Drying her tears on a sleeve, Marla pulled Sam into a corner and whispered fervently. "You have to help me! I just know I'm next! I don't want to die!"

"Calm down,  _Marla_." Apparently,  _Dean_  had no issue using her name, and Marla didn't even notice. "What makes you think you're next? What do you know?"

"I… _*sigh*_  I run a... _club_...at my - "

Dean waggled a finger back and forth, smiling sweetly. "Nuh-uh. I'm sorry. If you want our help, you're gonna have to do better than lying through your teeth."

Sam leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest, letting Dean handle her.

Marla sagged. She looked around and spoke in an even lower voice. "I run a coven." She paused for dramatic effect. "That's a club for witches."

"Do tell."

"It wasn't a serious one. We...we dressed up and chanted spells and stuff. Mostly we raised money for the food pantry and the homeless shelter through rummage sales and bake-offs. But...we kind of got into the whole... _dark side_."

Dean tossed her a flat look. "Lady, you're about as dark side as lemon cake." Sam raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm still waiting to hear why you think you're next, and actually, I'd like to know why five people have died in the first place."

Marla wrung her hands. "Everyone who died wanted out of the club. I...I didn't do anything! I swear! Samuel…" She choked back a sob. "Samuel was already leaving. The deaths made him nervous. I was going to cancel the whole club altogether. That was last night. And now today...he's dead! That means I'm next!"

Sam stayed quiet. Partly because Dean was enjoying making Marla confess. Partly because the now familiar itching took residence in his nose. Casually, he braced his knuckles under his nostrils, occasionally rubbing back and forth. Marla didn't notice - she kept babbling. But Dean noticed. He began scanning the room for what could be irritating Sam's sinuses.

"I need to get Maybelline and leave town! Immediately! This isn't - "

Everything came to a screeching halt.

Itchy nose forgotten, Sam asked, "Wait - how do you know Maybelline? She was Caron's daughter, but you were at the  _huh- h'eschhew!_  house when we visited."

Dean cut in. "Bless you. And pretending to be someone else, may I add."

Sam did a double take at Dean.  _May I add?_

_Sure, why not?_

Marla looked more miserable than before. "Maybelline was adopted by Caron. I was close to Caron, kind of like her sister. I think of Maybelline as my niece. I...I don't know much about her past, but I know she was very happy with Caron, and is taking her death hard."

Sam sniffled, pulling out some tissues. "She didn't seeb upset - " A sneeze cut him off.

Dean left the conversation to find what was making Sam sneeze...because if it was making  _Sam_  sneeze...and they were now sneezing in  _sync…_

He half listened, though.

"That's just Maybelline. She masks her true feelings."

Sam glanced at Dean, muttering, "I kdnow how that goes…" The tickling flared, forcing Sam to step back, mouth open, chest heaving. Deciding to just let them out, Sam sneezed into his handful of tissues.

"Jesus, Sammy." Dean was back, one hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam sighed and blew his nose. When he finished...no tickling. He sniffed, and gave Dean the thumbs up. Which Dean didn't see, because his eyes were pinched shut. He turned away, snuffling a soft sneeze into the crook of his arm.

"Are...you two okay?" Marla asked.

"Peachy."

Sam patted his arm, nodding at something behind Dean. He turned and saw...a rat. A huge, white rat, scurrying across the floor.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Marla noticed them noticing. "That's Harold, Samuel's pet rat. He pretends... _pretended_...it was a chihuahua."

"Of  _course_  he did," Dean sighed.

Sam asked, "So...Maybelline...how long has she been with Caron?"

Marla dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "Almost a year. Caron wanted a daughter so badly. Maybelline practically fell into her lap. They hit it off so easily."

Dean snorted. "I'm sure that's how it was." He sniffed. "Huh...it's gone."

Sam nodded. "Where is she now? We'd like to...ask... _Dean…?_ "

Both Dean and Marla said, "You want to ask Dean?"

Sam was staring out the back door window. "What? No! Dean - look out there."

In the far back corner of Samuel's yard, was a snowman. Watching the house.

Dean head retreated. "What the fuck…"

Marla flapped a hand at it. "Some of the neighborhood kids build them. They're all over town. We think that's why the children kept thinking that a snowman was behind the deaths. They're everywhere, so they're on the children's minds."

"Yeah...except that one wasn't there when we got here."

**xxxxx**

Back in the Impala, "Rats, Sam? We're sneezin' from rats, now?"

Sam was writing the new trigger in his notebook. "It wasn't actually the rat, Dean. It was a symbol for animal fur or probably dander."

"Sam. We. Sneezed. From. A. Rat. We can't top that. I don't see how that's possible."

"Let's grab food, open the box, and figure out a way to stop Maybelline."

"Oh, I know the way...bullet between her eyes."

"We need to find her, first. Marla thinks she's at a friend's house, but if Maybelline is who we think she is, she sure as hell doesn't have any friends."

"Well we're on a clock, now. Marla fits the profile of who dies. If Maybelline offed her own adopted parent, I see no reason for her to spare Marla."

"Think Marla will follow our instructions and not contact Maybelline?"

Dean gave Sam a sidelong look.

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "Me either."

**xxxxx**

They walked in their room, arms full of food, beer, and a dead dude's blood.

Sam's nose was in his notebook. "Okay...you sneezed from the heater in the diner, I sneezed from a pepper spill. We both lost it when that guy ran into us while carrying a bouquet of flowers." He tossed the notebook and pen on the table. "This is getting old. And it's only Day Nine."

Dean gingerly set down the beer and food. "What do you mean only? We're closer to being done than not."

"Isn't this getting to you?"

Dean shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on the back of a chair.

Sam huffed, throwing his hands in the air. "Come on! This has to be bugging you! That optimistic crap only goes so far!"

Dean sighed, leaning on the back of a chair. "Truth?"

"Duh!"

" _Okay_." He took a deep breath. "My chest is tight from nerves, my throat hurts from sneezing so hard, and I've had a non-stop headache for two days. I've sneezed so much, I think my nose now itches all the time, and it's getting harder to tell when it's a real  _gonna sneeze_ situation, versus my brain just wired for doing it. I can't stand not being able to stop you from having reactions, and I can't stand not being able to control where, when, and how we're sneezing. I feel like I'm on edge all the fucking time, and in the middle of it all, we're trying to keep people from dying while not getting killed ourselves.  _But there's nothin' we can do about it._ There's three days after this still to go. Every time I think I can get used to it, we get a new trigger, and it's like the worst surprise ever, once a day." He took a deep breath. " _Now_. I'm going to take a  _monster_  of a piss. When I get back, we're not gonna talk about this anymore. I'm gonna eat my grilled cheese sandwiches, knock back a couple beers, and paint a box with blood."

Sam just stood, mouth hanging open a little, as Dean patted him on the cheek and walked to the bathroom, their shoulders brushing as he passed by.

Needing something to say, Sam called over his shoulder, "A simple  _yes_  would've been okay…"

Dean flipped him off before closing the door.

_Well_ , Sam thought as he sat down,  _guess we really are in sync…'cuz that's exactly how_ _ **I**_   _feel._

**xxxxx**

When Dean emerged from the bathroom, Sam had eaten half of his sandwich and drank most of his beer. Dean sat down and didn't mention the verbal dumping that occurred just moments ago. He unwrapped his sandwich and promptly sneezed. Without a word, Sam marked  _pepper_  off Dean's list.

Sam balled up his garbage, shoving it in the take-out bag. "Soon as you're done, we'll open the box."

Dean swallowed. "Don't have to wait - go do it." He shivered. "Fuck, it's cold in here. Turn up the heat first, would you?"

Sam looked Dean over before saying, "Yeah, sure. It's so cold outside, the heater's probably having a hard time keeping up."

The second he cranked the heat, the vent kicked in.

The second the vent kicked in, Sam's allergic reactions kicked in.

Dean shrugged with his eyebrows. "Cross blowing air off your list."

Sam sat back down, tissues in hand as he belted out one last sneeze. He shot Dean a baleful look.

Dean motioned with one hand for Sam to get going. "Bless you bless you, now open the box."

After shoving the tissues in the garbage, Sam opened the vial of blood and carefully poured it into the divots. The instant the second divot was full, the latch clicked, popping open.

They shared a look. Dean, the last bite of his sandwich poised to enter his mouth, quickly shoved it inside, wiped his hands on his jeans, then stood to join Sam.

They stared at it.

Sam scratched behind his ear. "On three?"

"Sure," Dean said. " _Three_."

The lid thunked on the table. They looked inside.

Sam squinted. "Is that…?"

Dean turned the box a little to the left, tilting his head in the opposite direction. "I think…?"

Sitting on a tiny velvet pillow was what appeared to be a human heart.

And a big, black button.

"That button matches the one we found outside his house."

"Yeah...and the heart…?"

Sam ran his hand through his hair. "I'm guessing it's connected to Maybelline. Let's check with Bobby to be sure…"

**xxxxx**

According to Bobby, some witches, in order to live long lives while maintaining a particular age, cast a life spell on a body part...save said body part...and voila. The power of black magic somehow keeps them alive without aging.

"Why are these spells so fucking stupid? I don't get how this is a thing. She took out her own heart so she could live forever? What the hell is that?"

Sam's tone sounded very patient, like he was talking to a moron. "Black magic works in mysterious ways, Dean. It always requires something monumental before giving something monumental. The lore supports that."

Dean blinked at him.

Sam sighed, burying his face in his hands. "Black magic is funky wunky."

"That's what I'm sayin'!"

"RIght. So now…?"

"Now...we get to Marla, gank the witch, then go to Bobby's and ride this curse out."

Sam looked at his watch. "Tonight?"

"Maybe. We have to  _heh_  plan this out at least a little... _hih_...but then...What the  _Hrschch!_ hell?" He sniffed, looking around the room. "What's left for today?"

Sam was already scrambling for the notebook. "Uh...perfume and something touching our noses."

"You wrote  _something touching our noses_  on the list?" He turned and sneezed.

Sam shrugged defensively. "Yeah! Well, I mean, that's what it is! You prefer I use 'tickling' instead? I can...uh... _hetschhhuh!_ change it if you want -  _what the hell_  is in here?"

Dean sniffed again, spinning around slowly. "You use 'tickling' and I'll definitely shave your head.  _*sniff*_  You smell that?"

Sam was too busy gearing up for another sneeze. "I cadn't sbell addything…"

Sniffing around the room, Dean tracked the odor amid sneezing. It was coming from the vent. "What... _HIHHHHHH-t'SHHUH!_  Soddofabitch." Den stomped out of the room, heading for the front office. He slammed right into two women, wearing gaudy gowns and decorated paper hats.

"Happy new year!" One yelled, blowing a party favor.

This  _particular_  favor was a party  _horn_ , that uncoiled a tube with frilly fringe on the end while making an obnoxious blaring noise. And she blew it in Dean's face.

The fringe  _tickled_  his already sensitive nose, kicking off a massive fit on the walkway.

Dean leaned against a support beam, trying to catch his breath between sneezing.

Sam barrelled out of the room, tissues covering his face, his own eyes streaming from the scent in the room. The women, clearly drunk, wove away, giggling and singing "Auld Lang Syne" off key.

"Dean? Hey! You okay?" Sam propped Dean against the motel, shoving a clean handful of tissues at him.

Bent at the waist, Dean panted, face hidden by tissues, sneezing endlessly into them.

After everything Dean shared earlier, Sam knew Dean was now done for the night. Keeping a hand on his back, Sam enjoyed the clean air in his lungs while worrying about his brother. The fit was harsh, almost desperate. Like it knew Dean was at the end of his rope with the curse.

Dean slid down the wall until he sat, in the snow. The sneezing finally stopped, but Dean wasn't quite ready to move. With a sigh, Sam plopped down next to him, ignoring the cold, ignoring the wet snow. Their knees knocked once. And for a brief second, Sam was pretty sure Dean's head rested on his shoulder.

Sam contemplated snaking an arm around his brother, who started shivering.

"Samb. Get in the fucking roob. It's freezindg out here."

...And there were Dean's brother instincts. Never asleep for long.

Sam snorted. "You're the one who can't breathe and is shivering."

Dean croaked a laugh. "You're the onde shiverind', dude. Dot be."

_Well, shit._

Dean patted Sam's knee. "I'b okay. Combe od...idside. Dow."

They got to their feet, grimacing at their pants. (Still not good wet crotch, Sam)

"Hold on," Sam said, pushing Dean a little until he rested against the motel again. "Still have that weird smell in there. Lemme go to the front office real quick. Stay here."

Sam jogged toward the office, hearing Dean mutter behind him, "Dot a kid...Jesus…"

The door  _dinged_  when Sam stepped inside, both soothed and stifled by the overly warm room. The impossibly old clerk looked up. "Ya here 'bout the heater?"

Sam blinked at him. "Uh...yes?"

The man nodded. "Had a glitch. It started kicking out some funky wunky smells." (What the hell?) "But it's okay now. Should be cleared up." The man appraised Sam's wet, bedraggled appearance. "You look cold, young man."

Shuffling over, he produced a knit scarf, and made a very terrible attempt at wrapping it around Sam's neck. He couldn't reach Sam's neck, let along his shoulders. "Uh...that's okay, sir…" Hand flapping Sam's protests, he decided to toss the scarf up and around.

Rather than neatly looping Sam's neck (which... _really…_ ) it just landed square in Sam's face. Tiny fibers tickled Sam's already sensitive nose, kicking off a massive fit in the room.

Dean barrelled into the office, took one look at Sam, and yanked the scarf off his face.

The old clerk simply stood there. " _Ooooh_. Them's doozies."

Dean gave him one look, shook his head, and guided Sam back to their room. "Combe ond...sleep ndow. Gank toborrow."

**xxxxx**

"...Dean."

"I know."

" _*huff*_ "

" _*sigh*_ "

" _ **Dean…**_ "

" _ **Sammy**_. I'm aware."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. Dean drummed his fingers against his thigh.

It was afternoon, the next day.  _Afternoon_. Neither of them sneezed, yet. All day. Not a sniffle, a twitch, a hitch, or an itch.

_Nothing_.

And it was the afternoon…when they planned to go after Maybelline.

The heater in their room kicked on three times that morning. No sneezing.

The pepper shaker's cap was loose at the diner. No sneezing.

The front office had a fresh bouquet of flowers on the desk when they checked out and the party-women from the night before were there, complete with floral scented  _something_  on them.

No sneezing.

The weather predicted a few inches of snow, and it already started to fall. They sat in the Impala, packed and ready to head to Bobby's once the witch was dealt with...but... _they hadn't sneezed yet._

That translated into ten potential triggers during a fight with a witch that couldn't be controlled or managed effectively. Neither liked those odds. But neither liked the idea of Marla continuing to be at risk.

Sam picked at a loose thread on his jacket. "You know...there was no guarantee that this curse was ever related to the Twelve Days of Christmas. I mean...the only real way to know is if we actually stopped the crazy sneezing on day twelve...and even then… _*sigh*_  There isn't a curse for it. You can curse someone  _to_  sneeze, yeah, but connecting it to a holiday song is kinda - "

" - far fetched. I know all that. It was just...easier to think of it that way. Made it something we could plan on and deal with."

"So...maybe it's over."

"Maybe."

Sam kept pulling at the thread until Dean smacked his hand. "Don't put a hole in your coat, bitch. It's cold outside."

Sam threw his hands in the air. "What should we do?"

Dean gave him a  _Oh, Please!_  look. "Sam. We still have a job. Let's get to the house, kill her, and get to Bobby's." He put the car in reverse.

Sam blew out a breath, eyes out the passenger window.

Dean sighed, putting the car back into park. Reaching out, he squeezed the back of Sam's neck. Sam closed his eyes, leaned back into the touch, and nodded.

"Okay, then," Dean murmured. He backed the Impala out of the motel lot, and headed for Caron Milton's house.

**xxxxx**

They parked a block away, loading up on weapons. The heart from the box was now in a ziploc baggie ("Hey Sam, I bet if we shake the bag upside down, it won't fall out.") carefully stowed in Dean's pocket. While it was likely that the heart was connected directly to Maybelline, there was no guarantee. Sam didn't want to smush it only to find out that it held the survival of the entire town, instead.

As they trudged through the snow toward the house, hair on the back of Sam's head began to stand up.

"Dean…"

"Yeah. Four o'clock."

Casually, Sam turned around. He almost tripped. Two houses down was a snowman, looking in their direction.

"Holy hell…"

"Uh-huh."

"Shit...another one at nine o'clock."

"Fuck. Come on."

They picked up the pace, almost slipping as they turned onto the path leading to Caron's front door. Dean was contemplating actually knocking when a loud scream came from inside. He kicked down the door, and stormed inside, gun in one hand, heart clasped in the other, still in his pocket.

Maybelline stood, eyes blazing, in the middle of the room. Marla, on her knees, sobbed for mercy, a twig sticking out of her side. Sam recognized it as an arm from a snowman.

"Where is it?" Maybelline shrieked. "I know you have it!"

"Hey!" Sam yelled, aiming his gun at Maybelline's head.

Maybelline whipped around. Her face contorted, half young, half old, and it was shifting right in front of them. Dean made a look of disgust, tightening his grip on the heart.

"You…" she took a faltering step toward them. "You have it. I can feel it. Give it to me!"

Sam side-stepped away from Dean, gun still trained on Maybelline, until he was a couple steps away from Marla. Blood dribbled down her shirt, her eyes beginning to slip closed.

Dean put on his cocky-face. He pulled out the heart. "Oh...you mean this?" He jiggled the bag, taunting her.

Maybelline hissed, stepped closer, forgetting Marla and Sam. Sam rushed to Marla's side, examining the wound and deciding to chace yanking the twig out. She groaned, then passed out.

"Why's this so important, anyway?" Dean asked, looking at it for a second. "What's it to you?"

" _It's everything to me!_ " She screeched, launching herself at Dean, who, taken off guard, stumbled back a couple steps, into a line of snowman who suddenly appeared inside the house.

Sam's blood ran cold. " _ **Dean!**_ "

Sam never saw them move, but somehow they were on top of his brother, who managed to toss the heart at Sam before disappearing in the snow.

Maybelline pounced. Sam stomped. The heart burst through the bag. Everything froze.

With a horrified gasp, Maybelline shuddered, slowly turning into a snow-woman, complete with button eyes and a green scarf. With an angry snarl, Sam stomped on it as well, reducing her to a pile of the fluffy stuff.

The remaining snowman also became a shapeless heap of snow, random buttons, scarves, coal and twigs loosely scattered amidst the powder.

" _Nonononononono…_ " Sam dug through the pile, sending snow in every direction. "Dean!"

His frantic flailing connected with Dean's head, followed by a few choice words coming from said head.

Sam sagged to the side as Dean emerged, spitting melted snow out of his mouth. Sam took a second to really look at the pile - which was almost taller than him.

Dean dragged himself free, landing next to Sam. "Fuckin' witches, man."

Sam breathed a laugh, clapping Dean on the shoulder.

"How's Marla?"

"Poked by a twig. Should be okay."

"Awesome." He looked around, catching his breath. A chill caught up with him, and he shivered.

" _Hp'TSCHCHCHUhhh!_ "

Dean froze, hands cupped over his face.

Sam swallowed. "Um. Bless you…"

Dean nodded, lowering his hands. "Thanks…"

They waited.

Nothing.

"Okay...let's get Marla to a hospital…"

**xxxxx**

Dean got the car while Sam waited with Marla. All the snowmen were gone, to Dean's delight.

By the time he got back, Sam had Marla conscious and at the curb. Unfortunately, he couldn't make her stop crying. Once she was in the backseat, Sam started climbing in.

"Whoa, there!" Dean yelped. "Brush that snow off you, first!"

Shivering, Sam stared at him incredulously. Dean motioned for Sam to get a move on. With a huff, Sam snarkily commented that it was snowing hard enough to nullify his efforts.

Dean didn't care.

Mostly cleaned off, Sam climbed in. Dean opened his mouth.

Sam held up a hand, his whole body shaking. "I'm freezing and I got snow down my back. Just drive." He shivered, his chest expanding as he took a huge breath. " _HAAH'TSCHHYUUuu!"_

From the back seat, "You...you're sneezing from being  _cold?_ "

Two long-drawn out sighs later…"Apparently."

**xxxxx**

Marla was deposited at the hospital, mostly okay. It was not a small sense of relief that swept through each Winchester as they pulled away.

Dean's headache was fairly ramped up from being temporarily buried by snowmen. He couldn't shake the chill that seemed to take residence in his bones, and an ache between his shoulder blades, probably from constantly clenching while sneezing, begged for a muscle relaxer.

Sam's throat was more raw than not from sneezes that grated against it. Stress from the last several days left him feeling drained all over, and he couldn't shake a chill that left him exhausted from shivering.

They shared a bottle of Advil like it was a packet of Chicklets. Sam sucked on lozenges while sticking muscle patches to Dean's shoulders. Dean pulled them neatly onto Interstate 49, heading north for Sioux Falls.

It was mostly quiet in the Impala. Music played gently from the radio, allowing them to stay apprised of weather alerts while providing something other than their chattering teeth for noise. They didn't want to talk about their only sneeze of the day.

But Dean knew it was only a matter of time before Sam cracked. It was  _Sam_  afterall. His need to  _noodle things through_  dominated Dean's need to  _let them be_.

After a fifteen minutes, Sam was still shivering.

"This is stupid," Dean muttered, cranking the heat.

Warm air burst from the vents, causing Sam to sneeze twice.

Both boys sulked for another ten minutes, until Sam reached into the backseat, pulled out his notebook with pissy, jerky movements, and made exaggerated checkmarks on their recording page.

"So," he finally snipped. "The new trigger is being cold?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer.

Sam cut him off. "That's a fucking stupid trigger. Shivering doesn't cause sneezing in any reality."

Dean frowned, opening his mouth to answer.

Sam cut him off. "So the curse is still active, and now we're gonna be cramming eight triggers into this afternoon and evening."

Dean tilted his head to the side, opening his mouth to answer.

Sam cut him off. "We're stuck in the car. How are we supposed to get perfume and...and fucking  _scented candles_  if we're stuck in the car for another eight hours? Are we getting one trigger an hour? What if you have a fit while driving?"

Dean's eyes widened as he considered that.

He opened his mouth to answer, but Sam cut him off. "Or is this curse gonna force us off the road somehow, then we'll get slammed? Or maybe it'll make us fucking wait even longer, like until we get to Bobby's, then - "

Never taking his eyes from the road, Dean reached over and cuffed Sam on the head.

"Hey!" Sam yelled, gingerly rubbing the sore spot on his head.

"Can I talk now, or did you wanna keep bitchin'?" Dean asked, knowing damn well that Sam  _did_  want to keep bitching, but that he  _also_  wanted an actual conversation. At Sam's silence, Dean said, " _Thank_  you. Now. I'm pretty sure I said this already. There's. Nothing. We. Can. Do. Your song theory is as good as there  _not_  being a song connection." Dean splayed his hands against the steering wheel. "Just...sneeze, Sam. And let it go. Okay?"

Sam bit his lip and stared out the window. His leg bounced for a few seconds. He rubbed an eye. He ran a finger under his nose. He sighed.

" _That's_  my boy."

Begrudgingly, Sam dropped the topic.

Dean did not.

He thought back on Sam's sneeze in the car. Dean pointedly turned on the vents, and Sam sneezed. Okay, he didn't turn on the vents to  _make_  Sam sneeze, but  _Dean_  did the action, knowing that it  _might_  make Sam sneeze.

He thought back a few days, remembering flicking Sam's sunglasses off his head...making him sneeze once exposed to the bright sunlight.

So maybe...just maybe...Dean was allowed to make  _Sam_  sneeze...to...get him finished as soon as possible.  _Dean_  could deal with the unknowns. But  _Sam_...Dean didn't like how this curse upset his brother.

Deciding to test his theory, Dean wracked his brain for a trigger within the car he could use.

_Flashlight_.

Dean reached under his seat, pulling out a huge flashlight. Sam frowned at him. "What are you doing?"

Dean shrugged, trying to appear casual. "I think it needs new batteries." One handed, he flipped the switch, swiveling it at Sam. "Is it working?"

"Dean, it's daylight! How am I -  _hih'Schhhew! T'Shhchhew!_  - oh  _great_ , thanks for that."

"Shit - sorry!" Dean hid his smile as he turned the flashlight off, once again stowing it under the seat. "I guess it's working, huh?"

Sam blew his nose.

**xxxxx**

Feeling better than he had in days, Dean began to plot his own ridiculous sneezing scenarios so Sam could sneeze away, but not know what Dean was doing. If Sam figured it out, it may not work, and Dean couldn't take that chance.

A half-hour later, Dean announced that Baby needed gas and wiper fluid. Sam learned eons ago to never question Dean's random car needs, so he just nodded. Although he did notice that the Impala still had over half a tank left.

The rest stop had a couple fast food places clustered in a single building, so grabbing food, caffeine and going to the bathroom became instantly appealing.

In the bathroom, a guy was fiddling with one of the vending machines that hung next to the hand dryer. Not wanting to know, Sam slipped past and into a stall. Unfortunately, he was still there when Sam came out to wash his hands.

He turned to Sam and asked, "Hey buddy, you know how to work these things?"

_If only Dean were there._  "Uh, no, sorry."

The man's face fell. "Aw, man." He banged the side in frustration, releasing a cloud of Drakkar Noir into the air.

Sam had enough time to think  _fuckfuckfuck_  before pitching forward, sneezing endlessly into his hands. He managed to pull a bandana from his coat pocket, and just let 'em rip, one after the other.

Next thing he knew, Dean was there, yanking him into the hallway, while also sneezing. "You leave for five minutes and -  _Hih'Chhhh!_ you're a mess."

Dean propped Sam against a wall outside the bathroom. Sam's eyes were clenched shut, one hand on his throat, the other on his nose.

"You okay, Sam?"

Sam nodded.

"You sure?"

One eye opened. Another nod.

Nodding back, Dean clucked his tongue. "Drakkar Noir would make anyone react negatively. Don't worry about it."

The open eye rolled. Dean tugged on his sleeve. "Go pick out what you want to eat. I still gotta piss."

Once Sam staggered out of sight, Dean checked his pockets. Packets of pepper, a tiny dream catcher with feathers, an air freshener for the car (that was close to a scented candle, right?), and some dust off old knick knacks at the gift shop that he wrapped in a tissue.

None of it made Dean sneeze (he tried), but his theory was proving to be true, so that meant Sam was now on a track to getting the sneezing done early.

So proud of himself, Dean actually whistled while he peed, his achiness and headache finally shoved into the background.

**xxxxx**

Sam shuffled toward the restaurants. Once Dean shined that light in his face, he realized...as long as they weren't aware, they could make the other sneeze.

Sam liked it when his brother's carefree attitude was genuine. It was a true reflection of his  _live life to the fullest_  mantra. Sam had felt like utter crap for a few days now, and today's snowman fiasco was the topper. If he could focus on helping Dean...his own ills could be shoved into the background, and the curse could actually be more tolerable.

So, Sam took pepper packets, bought an air freshener (he figured it was close enough to a scented candle) and a small, very fuzzy, teddy bear, holding a heart that read, "I (heart) my brother." There was some dust on old knick knacks in the back of the store, but someone swept away part of it, and it felt stupid to take  _dust_  for crying out loud.

Everything in his pockets, he felt a little better, like he had a purpose now.  _This could work_ , he told himself, practically whistling as he ordered his food, sore throat and exhaustion forgotten.

**xxxxx**

If either brother paid real attention to the other's actions, they would have known something was up. Instead, they were too keyed in on the other's potential  _ **re**_ actions, so obvious ploys passed unnoticed. Besides, the curse put them in bizarre, unbelievable situations. Why would they think anything else was amiss?

Dean accidentally ripped a pepper packet instead of a salt packet for his fries.

" _Ehhhh-HURSHHH!"_

Sam wiped his face with a little more force than necessary, tossing some pepper back at Dean when he wasn't looking.

" _Heh-t'SHHUH!"_

"Bless you!" They told each other, inwardly gloating, outwardly concerned.

Lunch finished with only one more sneeze from a Pomeranian who seemed seriously affronted by their reactions.

"Hey," Dean said, smacking Sam on the arm on their way back to the Impala. "When we get in the car, give Bobby a call and let him know we're on our way. Totally forgot to do that earlier."

Sam nodded, "Yeah, okay. You know, we should probably get him something for Christmas."

Dean unlocked the door giving Sam a look. "He's getting  _us_. What could top that?"

Sam matched the look with one of his own.

"Yeah, okay. You can look shit up while we drive. It'll help pass the time."

**xxxxx**

Turned out that air fresheners didn't substitute for scented candles, so that was a bust. Once the sun set, Sam showed Dean a baseball cap he thought Bobby would like, the glow from the phone inspiring a double. Sam also announced a gassy response to his lunch, prompting a window roll-down for a minute. The rush of cold air brought forth an extremely harsh sneeze from Dean, renewing his sore throat.

Next rest stop was when each decided to implement the physical trigger. Sam paid the gas station clerk to throw the teddy bear at Dean's head while suggesting that Dean buy it for Sam. Meanwhile, Dean paid some girl to dangle the dreamcatcher in Sam's face while he was squatting to look at candy bars. (Wasn't a hard sell - she thought Sam was cute.)

Still, spirits were high in the car, as they bantered back and forth about presents for Bobby (they decided on a single malt whisky from Japan and a cap that read  _World's Greatest Uncle)_. Neither mentioned the curse or the slightly run down feeling that returned after sitting in the car for over eight hours.

By the time they pulled into Bobby's driveway, Dean was ready for bed, and Sam was ready for more Advil. Snow fell steadily, already over four inches on the ground. Sam couldn't help it - he checked for mutant, evil snowman before getting out of the car.

Bobby met them at the door, a smile in his eyes belying the gruff tone. "Took you long enough."

"Love you too, Bobby," Dean croaked, pausing to clear his throat as he stomped the snow off his boots.

Bobby grunted, taking in their exhausted faces and shivering bodies. "Hungry?"

Sam toed off his boots, dropping his bag on the floor. "Not really. We ate not too... _hhhh-heschhhyuuu!._.." His eyes widened a little, face buried in the crook of his arm. He glanced over at Dean. "Uh…"

Dean frowned, looking around for the trigger.

Bobby looked around for what Dean was looking around for. "Whatcha lookin' for?" He was expecting sneezing and coughing and dripping and exhaustion and fevers. He knew they were sick.

Dean shook his head. "Nothing. Just...looking." He toed off  _his_  boots, rubbing a finger under his nose as he felt a slight twitch. "You...um…" He looked to Sam, not remembering what triggers were left on their list.

Sam was already flipping pages, but Bobby beat him, waving for them to get out of the doorway. "Got a tree this year."

Dean sneezed into his shoulder, wincing afterward.

Sam's shoulders sagged a little. "A tree…" He snapped the book shut, sniffling while following Bobby into the living room. Sure enough, in the corner stood a little tree, about five feet tall, outfitted with some ornaments and lights.

He sniffed again, bringing his wrist under his nose. "Are you baking cookies?" He paused to sneeze, shoulders crinkling as he pitched forward. "Smells like…"

"Vanilla," Dean finished, also sneezing.

Inwardly sighing at the mess of his boys, Bobby outwardly shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "Didn't have one of those candles and wasn't about to spend twenty fucking dollars on one, so I used air fresheners for a car instead. It's the same thing, isn't it?"

In unison, both boys sneezed.

"Yeah. Git upstairs to bed. Now."

Nodding, they trudged upstairs to their room, tossing their bags in a corner (Dean muffled a sneeze into his shoulder from the dust) and flopping on their beds.

"We should tell him," Sam muttered into his pillow.

"Tomorrow," Dean mumbled.

"Tomorrow works."

**xxxxx**

_**Continued in the next chapter...** _


	5. Chapter 5

Next morning, Bobby went to check on them. It wasn't unusual for the brothers to sleep in after arriving late from a hunt. But they were sick, and Bobby needed to check on them,  _because_.

He shook his head at the sight before him - barely under the covers, boots still on their feet, bags thrown all willy-nilly, Sam clutching a spiral notebook like a stuffed animal. Bobby rearranged blankets, removed boots, set a box of tissues on the nightstand between their beds and glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one saw his true maternal nature.

He had a reputation, after all.

It didn't take much effort to pry the notebook from Sam's limp fingers. Bobby was about to toss it on the pile of gear when a bizarre checklist, next to a stick figure cartoon caught his eye. He recognized Sam's handwriting, with dates and X's next to a really odd list. Scented candles? Pepper? Animal fur? At first it seemed to be a goofball shopping list, until Bobby saw the number of items increasing by one each day.

Along the margins were little stick figures, each with speech bubbles saying, "Ah-Choo!"

What the hell?

Putting two and two together was a specialty of Bobby's, and when it came to these two, there was usually an exponent and some parentheses involved. Still, Bobby understood Winchester math.

These two idjits weren't sick. They got themselves cursed.

**xxxxx**

It was a few hours later that Dean padded into the kitchen, hair askew, sweatshirt half tucked in pajama pants, arms wrapped around himself for warmth, even though Bobby turned up the heat hours ago.

"Mornin' beautiful," Bobby chirped, pouring a large mug of coffee. He gestured for Dean to sit, placing the mug before him. "How're you feeling?"

Dean grunted, taking a cautious sip. His eyes slipped closed as the warm liquid slid down his throat.

Bobby sat across from him, sliding the notebook across the table. "So…"

Dean's eyes drifted from the book up to Bobby. He shook his head a little, rubbing his forehead in resignation. "It's been a fuckin' nightmare, Bobby," his voice rough and low. He idly flipped through the pages, snorting at the drawings. "Sam figured it out on Day...three, I think. Can't even remember." He closed the book, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

Bobby nodded, sipping from his own mug. "Tell me what happened."

Dean picked up his mug, shaking his head again. "I have no idea what happened. We didn't meet any witches. Well, except the one on the snowman case, but we were cursed before we even knew she was there." He paused to take a sip. "We'd been at each other's throats for a while. Too much...I dunno... _shit_. Too much shit, too much...on the road, cooped up in the car, the usual hunting crap that gets to ya after a while, you know?"

Bobby knew.

"Anyway, Sam found the headline about killer snowmen, which was weird because he was the one who wanted to stop all the traveling…"

Bobby's eyebrows rose. Dean kept rambling.

"...and kids were involved in this one, so we went to Noel, Missouri to figure it out."

"Noel?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I know," he said, mouth on the rim of his mug. "We end up hunting in Noel at Christmas time. It figures, right?"

Dean buried his face in the mug, thoroughly enjoying its warmth and the comfort of Bobby's. Bobby bit his lip, not sure if he should break it to Dean that he was still missing all the signs of the curse right from the start. He was about to probe a little more when in shuffled Sam.

Both Bobby and Dean did a double take at  _that_  bedhead.

Sam gave them a sour look, reaching up to smooth it down. "Shut up."

Dean sat up straight. Sam's voice was a  _wreck_. "You sound like crap."

Sam nodded, clearing his throat, but only succeeding in a squeak. "I know. You're not much better." He poured himself some coffee. "You should've woken me."

"You needed the sleep."

Bobby scoffed. "You've only been down here five minutes."

Dean pointed at him. "He had sleep potential. Not my fault he ruined it."

Sam leaned against the counter. "Your sneezing woke me up." His eyes flickered to Bobby before asking, "Did you…?" Then he saw the notebook on the table. "Oh…"

Bobby picked it up, handing it back to Sam. "You were snuggling with it." Dean choke-laughed into his coffee. "Love the drawings."

Sam snatched the book with a huff. "I was...yeah, well...haha." He took a sip, then asked Dean, "So? What was it?"

"Huh?"

"This morning. What set you off?"

"Oh...same thing as last night. The dust."

Sam nodded, trying to open his notebook while walking to the table without spilling his coffee.

"Oh, for crying out loud," Bobby snapped. "Gimme that." He took Sam's mug, which was just about to tip over. Sam smiled a thanks as he sat down, turning pages until he got to the next clean one. "Okay...list for today…" Grabbing a pencil on the table, Sam created a new checklist as Bobby watched. He marked off dust for Dean, then sat back, rubbing his eyes.

Bobby decided to ask  _Sam_  questions. "Explain this curse to me...how'd you discover it?"

"Jesus, Bobby, it's so… _*sigh*_  Okay. No big deal when you sneeze once in a while, right? We're not allergic to anything except him and cats, and we were sneezing a lot more than usual. And for weird shit."

He opened his book, swallowing some coffee before starting back up. "Like... _here_. Out of nowhere on day two, we were photic sneezing."

Bobby blinked. "I'm sorry, come again?"

"That's what  _I_  said," Dean muttered, both hands wrapped around his mug.

"Photic sneezing," Sam explained. "That's when looking at bright lights triggers sneezing."

Bobby shook his head. "Never heard of it."

"Neither did we, until we were doing it. I started seeing a pattern in the stuff making us sneeze. It was the same triggers every day, with one new one a day."

Bobby glanced at the open pages. "So day one was just dust. Day two was dust and this photic stuff, then day three was those two things plus pepper?"

The boys nodded.

"How the hell do you get pepper to make you sneeze every day? Did you have to make yourselves sniff it? Were you forced to do something?"

They slumped in their chairs. "You wouldn't believe the shit that's happened," Dean mumbled sullenly. "It finds us, no matter what."

At Bobby's questioning look, Sam explained. "It didn't matter what we were doing or where we were. Triggers showed up. If we thought or expected something to make us sneeze, it didn't happen. Well, except the third time Dean had to talk to the coroner, but that was - "

Dean shook a finger at Sam. "Actually, I forgot about the candles. I was preoccupied with getting Baron's blood that I forgot about the candles by the time I got downstairs."

Sam flourished his hand. "Then the circumstances are intact. We can't make it happen. So like...Dean - sniff the pepper shaker."

Dean reached over, shook some pepper into his hand and sniffed it.

Sam continued. "See? Nothing. But if -  _Hih-CHHHHSH! Dean!_ " Dean tossed the pepper at Sam before innocently returning to his coffee.

"Just helping."

Sam huffed, facing Bobby while wiping off his face. "I wasn't  _expecting that,_ " Dean continued drinking. "So I sneezed and can cross pepper off  _my_  list."

Bobby just sat there, taking it all in. Finally, he leaned forward, elbows on the table. "First off, bless you. Secondly...just throwing it at you shouldn't make you react like that, for sure that's weird and third...let me get this straight. You two got cursed to sneeze at the same things every day, with one new item a day added to your list. If you try to make yourself sneeze or you expect it, chances are, you won't do it. But every day, you have to sneeze…' He pulled the book toward him. "...eleven times?"

"Well, today's day eleven, so we have eleven triggers. Ten we know about, the eleventh is new."

"A surpriiiiise!" Dean sang, waving his hands in the air.

Bobby took off his cap and scrubbed his scalp. "Any idea how long this is supposed to last?"

The boys shared a look. Dean nodded at Sam to continue. Sam sighed.

"Well?"

Sam squirmed. "I...I kinda thought that since it's Christmas, maybe it's like the Twelve Days of Christmas song."

"Huh?"

"You know...On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me - "

"I know the damn song, Sam, I meant how is it...oh, hold on. The song's pattern matches your curse. Right?"

Nod.

"So if today's day eleven, then tomorrow would be day twelve, and voila - over!"

"Well," Sam said, "if I'm right."

"How often are you wrong, boy?"

"That's what  _I_  said," Dean added.

Sam huffed again, "I have no proof, Bobby. It's just a guess. This could...If I'm wrong, then this could go on - "

" _Sammy!_ "

Sam tossed the pencil back on the table and sighed. Eventually, he picked up his mug, and sulkily stood up. "I'm gonna get dressed." He nudged Dean with his foot. "You need Advil. Bobby, make sure he takes some."

As Sam walked out, weaving a bit, Dean shot back, " _You_  need Advil and one of those throat drops. They're in my bag."

Without looking back, Sam raised his mug in acknowledgement and went upstairs.

Bobby shifted his gaze from the hallway to Dean.

Dean sighed. "We've been going back and forth about this. At first, he was the calm one. But lately, it's been really getting to him. I tried - "

Two thunderous sneezes echoed down the stairs.

"Bless you Bless you!" Dean called. " - being rational and logical, but nothing." He called out again, "What was it?"

" _Damn dust!"_

"Got it!" Dean marked the list.

Bobby pulled at his beard. "Does it matter that he sneezed twice?"

Dean shook his head. "Number of times doesn't matter. Just the triggers."

"Well...let's just hang out here, then. There's no - "

Dean barked a laugh. "Tried that. Tried forcing it. Tried holding it in. Tried a bunch of stuff. Doesn't work. The triggers find us, Bobby. It's...yeah. They find us."

They sat for a minute, Dean staring into his coffee, Bobby watching Dean.

"You look tired, son."

"I  _am_  tired. This curse just...it's wiping us out, Bobby. I can't…" Dean sighed into his mug, glancing upstairs where the shower ran. "I dunno. I just can't."

Bobby nodded slowly. "You feel up to heading into town? I gotta couple errands to run, and we'll need some food and beer and probably more Kleenex."

Dean nodded back. "Yeah, we'll go. Then you can see how this shitshow works."

"Can't wait."

**xxxxx**

" _Hhhhhh'_ _ **Krschhh**_ _ew!"_

The sun gleamed off inches of fresh snow. Sam's viewpoint of the shine had somewhat diminished since the sneezing started.

The temperature was in the low teens, " _H_ _eh_ ' _ **tschchchhh**_ _oooo!",_ adding a nice crunch to each step Dean took toward the car.

Bobby marvelled at how casual they seemed at each sneeze. Although he noticed that each sneeze was sounding much rougher than the ones last night, or any sneezing he's ever heard from them. Asking if they thought the curse was getting more difficult to manage physically didn't seem like a good idea, especially since their stress levels were clearly off the charts.

The fact that Dean declined driving them in the Impala spoke volumes on how  _he_  was feeling.

Resigned to the backseat, Sam applied pressure to the tip of his nose while staring out the window. His breath fogged an almost perfect circle every time he exhaled.

Dean turned around. "What's up?"

Sam sighed, not surprised that Dean's  _Sammy_  radar worked from behind. "Nose itches." He sniffed.

Dean frowned, looking around the car. "There's nothing in here."

Sam leaned his head against the glass, enjoying how it felt. "I know."

Dean frowned even more, turning back around. The Advil Sam and Bobby forced upon him muted some of his headache, but there was still a general achiness all over his body. Deciding to rest on the drive, Dean closed his eyes and leaned against the headrest. His mind started running through gift options for his brother.

New sweatshirt and socks for starters...which...okay, was a pathetic opener for gifts, but he knew Sam needed them. There was also a nifty bookstore in town that Sam liked. They always had some rare editions of classics that Sam loved to ogle.

Dean contemplated what size shirt to get Sam, when the backseat erupted. He spun around in time to watch the last sneeze. They sounded...tired.

"Whoa - bless you! What...wait. You cold?"

Sam, eyes closed, face buried in a bandana, shook his head.

"Smell something?"

Head shake.

"Something touch you?"

One eye opened. Head shake.

Dean opened his mouth to suggest something else, then shut it. There  _was_  nothing else.

Then, Sam nodded, blowing his nose and lowering the bandana. " _*sniff*_   _Nothing_." Dean tilted his head and stared at Sam, who just shrugged in return, saying, "I guess we're sneezing at nothing now."

"What the fuck does that even mean, Sam?" Dean's exasperated tone making Sam wince. " _Sorry_. I just...how does that even work?"

Bobby patted Dean's shoulder, one eye on the road, another eye on Sam in the rear view mirror, and his other eye on Dean's emotional state. "He ain't dead, right? So settle down." He glanced at Sam in the mirror again. "You  _aren't_  dead, right?"

Sam huffed a smile. "No." He huddled further in his coat, resuming his watch of the snow covered scenery. The young child in Sam was on full display, not at all ruffled by Dean's overbearing concern.

"Alright, then. So get out your little book and add  _No Reason_  to the list."

Dean muttered at Bobby, "At least it was in the car."

Bobby grunted in agreement. Assured that all eyes could go back to paying attention to little things like driving in the snow, Bobby took some time to mull over the curse, and more importantly, the boys' behavior.

They were worried about each other - that was clear and not unusual. Bobby had spoken to them before this curse hit, and he knew they needed a break. Dean was about to shave Sam's head, and Sam was about to slash Dean's tires. Neither action, no matter how funny, would've been good. Enter this curse and a particularly bizarre hunt, and now they're hovering...and letting the other hover.

Curious.

Well, Bobby wanted to see this curse in action. He also needed to pick up their gifts along with some basic supplies. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. No better way to celebrate than with beer that didn't come in cases and whisky that wouldn't be consumed straight from the bottle.

**xxxxx**

Dean rubbernecked at various stores as they drove down the main road. Sam seemed a little out of it, so Bobby decided to keep him close and let Dean loose.

"Meet at Phillips Avenue Diner around one," Bobby instructed, squinting at his watch through the snow.

"Can't believe you still wear a watch," Dean remarked, closing his door and pulling up his collar.

"Can't believe you know how to tell time. See you later. C'mon Sam."

Sam hesitated a second, then reached out to grab Dean's sleeve. "Hey...call if something happens, okay? I'm not kidding. I'm up by two, so you...just...call if you need to."

Dean searched Sam's face before answering, "I will.  _Promise_. You, too."

Sam nodded, letting go and running his hand through his hair. "Yeah, okay." He turned around, and promptly yelped as Dean threw a handful of snow at Sam's back. "Dean!" He shivered, brushing it off, sneezed twice, and just glared.

Walking backwards, innocence on his face and splayed hands, Dean shrugged. "Up by three, now. You'll be done before you know it." Chuckling to himself, Dean spun on his heels, shoved his hands in his pockets, and sauntered across the street.

Shaking his head, Sam joined Bobby who did his best to hide a smile. "He's something else, I swear to God," Sam grumbled. There was no heat in the grumbling beyond a mild annoyance.

But annoyance at what, really?

Bobby pulled his cap down. The wind picked up and from behind them, came a loud sneeze.

"Up by two again, jerk," Sam laughed, the snow-throwing incident forgotten.

They walked down the street toward the hardware store where Bobby's tire contact worked, heads bowed against the cold. "So Sam...tell me your side of all this. What's your take on the curse?"

Sam sighed, sniffing as his nose ran. "It makes no sense. I don't get the point of it...at all. How is sneezing relevant? I get that it's a punishment, but...if it ends tomorrow, then okay, it was annoying and stressful, but it'll be gone. Then, why bother? But if it doesn't, then...yeah. Bigger problem."

"Your brother isn't thinking about a timeline."

Sam snorted, tufts of steam billowing in front of his face. "He never does, Bobby. He's more concerned about two minutes in front of him than three. He's trying to be casual about it all, but it's upsetting him. A lot. I...I'm worried about him. He's better at hiding it than me, but…" He shook his head. "He's so on edge." They stopped outside the store, Sam's concern radiating from under his scarf. "It's funny...not that long ago, we were ready to kill each other. Now… _*sigh*_...I don't know what to do for him, Bobby, other than make sure he's taking Advil and...and...I dunno! At least the hunt's over."

Bobby nodded. He was getting an idea of what to do for  _both_  of them. "We'll figure it out. Come on...let's get Dean's present." He waggled his eyebrows and held open the door for Sam.

"You - what'd you get him? I've been try...ing... _Hih-CHHHHSH!_  to figure out what he'd like for days." He sniffled as they walked past the industrial sized heater at the door.

Bobbly raised his eyebrows at it. "Huh." Was all he said.

Sam sniffed again. "Yup. So, seriously...what'd you get?"

Bobby hooked a finger at him, leading the way toward the back of the store. Wanting to test out the curse, he walked Sam past an endcap of air fresheners. Ragged breathing started five feet away. Next came sniffling, followed by frantic fumbling in a pocket. Finally, as they hit the display, Sam lost it, sneezing into his hands.

"Jesus, Sam." He pulled out his own bandana only to be met with Sam shaking out his.

"I'b finde." He blew his nose. "It's just getting a little bore...potent." He sniffed, smiling apologetically.

Bobby couldn't help it. His heart melted.

But he was in a hardware store. So gruff uncle, it was. "Well, wipe up. We'll get more Kleenex for sure."

They stopped at a counter where he shook hands with a pleasant man named Jerry. "How do they look?" Bobby asked, folding his arms, anxious to see Sam's reaction. Because if Sam's reaction was good, then Dean's would be priceless.

"Aw, Bobby. Want 'em for myself! I almost didn't call ya, they're so gorgeous. Come look at 'em."

Bobby chuckled, following Jerry behind the counter and motioning for Sam to do the same. "If you did that, watch my rates triple next time you need to dump a car."

Jerry laughed, hands up in surrender. "Now, now. I said almost." He stopped at a pile in a corner, covered by a tan canvas tarp. "Take a gander, Bobby." He pulled the tarp with a dramatic flourish.

Under the tarp sat four gleaming tires and wheels, shined to perfection. "High performance, staggered fit, brand new. Pulled a few strings for this one, but they're here and they're in great shape." Jerry rocked on his heels, enjoying the reactions.

Sam's jaw dropped. "Whoa...that's...I mean...they're...uh...real pretty."

Bobby chuckled, Jerry outright cackled. Sam blushed.

Bobby flapped a hand at him. "They  _are_  real pretty, Sam. No doubt about it. They're summer tires. Dean's had his eye on them for a couple years now...came across them by accident."

Sam slowly circled the tires, listening to Jerry and Bobby chatter about the purchase. Sam had no idea Dean wanted these tires. He knew nothing about cars, let alone tires...but he should've known that Dean wanted something this  _big_...something even  _Bobby_  knew about. An uncomfortable knot settled in his gut.

A mild headache now pulsed a little between his eyes. He smiled an  _Excuse Me_  and wandered the store, trying to see if anything caught his eye that Dean might want...or need...or...want/need.

He couldn't find anything.

Bobby walked over, sensing Sam's discomfort. "Who kicked your baby seal?"

Sam blew out a breath. "Apparently, I did. I had no idea he wanted those...and on top of that, I didn't get him anything. I - "

"Stop right there. Dean wouldn't talk to you about tires, Sam, because he knows you have no interest in cars. We were leafing through magazines a while back and saw the ad. It's not something you would've known about, so stop beating yourself up. And, sounds like you had your hands full this past week or so. Not like you had time to go to a mall on a hunt!"

Sam didn't comment on that.

But he did feel a little better. Emotionally. Physically, he was starting to feel worse. The generic itching was back, forcing him to look around for another trigger.

Bobby looked around, too. "Something else here?"

Sam sniffed. "I dunno…" He gestured around his head. "Everything's plugged up and fuzzy. Too much sneezing, catching me off guard, getting stronger. I can't tell what's what right now."

Nodding, Bobby eyeballed him top to bottom. "Okay. Let's get some supplies and food, drop it in the car, then meet your brother for lunch. Phil's making chicken soup from scratch today. I figure that'll be perfect for you. Let's go."

**xxxxx**

Zandbroz Variety Store was a local favorite, selling unique toys and knick knacks for children and adults, not to mention pets. There was a small soda fountain in the front, and one of the largest book collections ever seen in a non-chain bookstore. Upstairs, in the back, were the really special books - first editions, out-of-print texts, rare and signed copies.

It was easily Sam's favorite place to visit when they were in the area.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, so the place was packed with parents finding treasures for their little ones, teens finding that perfect gift for friends, regular adults and regular kids just looking around - all crammed into the store, chattering and babbling, arguing and crying, begging and negotiating.

In the midst of all the chaos stood Dean, fairly certain he'd die before lunch at one.

The store was full of people, so it was  _warm_. Not comfortably warm,  _too-many-humans-in-one-space_ warm. Dean wanted warm - he'd been cold for a few days straight. But this warm felt... _icky_. It fogged his brain, made him sluggish and uncertain. It encouraged his ever-present headache to sit in a lawn chair at the base of his skull and sip a cocktail.

There were triggers everywhere, which made processing a gift for Sam more difficult. Garish Christmas lights blinked and flashed from every wall, shelf, and pole. Incense from the middle east wafted throughout one corner only to be met by various perfumes sprayed into the air by girls wanting to smell downright delicious.

His nose prickled constantly, almost painfully. His shoulders tensed, waiting for the volley of sneezing to hit. His head pounded from the noise, the smells, the heat, the crowd.

But he needed a gift for Sam. So he worked on containing the sneezing as best as he could, maneuvering his way through the throng of shoppers to the upstairs back room. The going was slow. Every time the triggers piled up, he stopped moving, covered his face, and muffled the sneeze into his bandana as softly and carefully as possible. The effort drained him, but he continued to drag himself through the store and up the stairs, pausing five times to sneeze, trying to ignore the looks from others.

Once he got to the room, he felt marginally better. The crowds weren't interested in specialty tomes, and the room needed special air circulation so the pages wouldn't mold. Didn't stop the persistent sneezing, but the sensation of ants crawling through his sinuses lessened somewhat.

"Nasty cold?"

Dean looked up at an elderly lady, perched behind the counter. She looked kind of familiar...Dean was fairly certain she'd worked there a while. She probably chatted it up with Sam last time he was there.

He sniffed, started to answer, but twisted away to bury a double in his elbow. "Doh...uh...allergies. Downdstairs is killer." He smiled through red, teary eyes.

She clucked her tongue, pushing a fresh box of tissues his way. "Here...that looks a little used." She nodded at his bandana and smiled.

Blushing, Dean shoved it back into his pocket and helped himself to a huge handful. "Thangks."

"So...what can I help you with? Looking for anything in particular?"

"Ub…"

That's when it hit him. Dean knew Sam liked this store - he liked it since he was a kid. But what, exactly, would Sam  _want_  from the store? Slowly, Dean spun around, one hand wiping his nose, the other keeping his balance against a counter. Shelves of books, all sizes and colors, looked back at him.

But none of them spoke.

"Are you looking for you or …?"

Dean sniffed again into the tissues. "Brother. He...loves this place. Loves to read. Really smbart. I thought he'd like sombthing, but..."

"Not sure what he'd like?"

Shoulders drooping, Dean shook his head, no. On reflex, Dean knew what Sam needed. That was second nature. Maybe first nature. But what he  _wanted?_ That was always the struggle.

"Well. We're closed tomorrow and the next day, but we're open after that. Maybe...maybe you need to  _reconnect_  with your brother. See what interests him. Then come back and visit." She handed Dean a slip of paper with the store's website and hours.

Nodding, Dean folded the paper in half, neatly tucking it in a pocket. "Yeah...I, uh, I think that's a good idea." He flashed a smile at the clerk, holding up the tissues. "Thanks for these."

She smiled back warmly. "Anytime, Dean."

Dean nodded again, gearing up for the barrage of triggers below before heading downstairs and meeting Sam and Bobby for lunch.

**xxxxx**

Sam frowned at his phone. "Dean's at the diner."

Bobby's eyebrows rose. "Already?"

Sam shrugged. "Apparently. I told him we're at the store and will be there soon." His phone dinged. "Oh...he said to bring Advil." Sam looked at Bobby. "Shit - that means his headache's worse."

Bobby pressed his lips together. "Well, let's get a move on, then."

Good thing Bobby knew what he wanted, because Sam was just following him around like a puppy. His throat was on fire after passing the floral department, his eyelids heavy.

Sam's not really sure how it happened, but soon enough, they were standing in line. He blinked and looked over the contents in the cart, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Several boxes of tissues, pills, liquids, cans of beer,  _food_  and  _stuff_.

He felt better once his eyes fell upon two bottles of Advil, making a mental note to put one in his pocket for Dean so he wouldn't forget it.

Bobby kept an eye on Sam as the groceries rang up. It was obvious he was having a hard time keeping himself upright. Maybe that soup needed to be taken home. He felt bad making Sam trudge through the snow to the car, both of them laden with bags full of food and supplies. His feet dragged, his shoulders bowed. But once the trunk slammed shut, Sam's spirits perked a bit at the thought of seeing his brother.

Bobby shook his head.  _Those two._

It took a couple minutes to find Dean in the restaurant. Corner booth, way back, head in his hands, eyes on the table.

_Fuck_.

Naturally, Sam got to him first, easing into the booth, one hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean? Hey, you -  _what the fuck happened?!_ "

Dean looked up, and even Bobby sat down speechless.

Bloodshot eyes drooped, rimmed with tears. Pain lines around his face were more pronounced, etched into his skin as proof of the headache that drowned out everything. His nose looked raw, like he'd scrubbed at it for hours. "Hey, Sammy."

Bobby took off his hat and rubbed his scalp. "Son, you sound like you've been smoking a couple cartons. We were gone barely an hour!"

As Sam dug through his pockets for the pills, Dean flapped a hand at them. "Look worse than I feel. Got hit with a few triggers at once. That's all."

Sam huffed. "Well, you must feel like death, Dean, because you look horrible.  _Goddammit_ , I left the pills in the car.  _Stay put._  I'll be right back."

Before Bobby could make  _Sam_  stay put, he was gone, back out into the snow.

Dean sighed, putting his head back in his hands.

" _Dean_. What. Happened?" Maybe with Sam gone, Bobby could get the  _real_  story out of him. There was more going on than just triggers.

Dean shifted his hands to under his chin, and sniffled. "Went to Zandbroz. You know - the store Sam loves."

Bobby nodded. He was  _very_  familiar with that store. It was his wife's favorite place. He knew all the employees and what they sold, particularly in the special book room.

"Yeah, well today, everyone in South Dakota is shopping there, testing perfume and flashing lights. It was a fucking nightmare."

"Jesus, Dean," Bobby sympathized, waiting for the rest of it.

Dean craned his neck toward the window, checking on Sam's return. "The kicker was that I couldn't figure out a single thing to get Sam."  _So_ _ **that**_   _was it._ "Nothing. Had no clue. I was in that special book room talking to the old lady that works there, and I just...I had nothing."

Old lady that worked there? Bobby's mind flashed through all the employees, especially the ones allowed to clerk in that room. There were only three, and Bobby knew all of them. One was aware of hunting, and often hooked Bobby up with rare volumes needed for cases. Another was a local librarian, who worked at the store part time. Both were male. The only female who worked in that section was a recent college grad, with a degree in literature.

"You sure about that woman?"

Even with Dean's discomfort, he managed to bitchface Bobby. "I was struggling to breathe, Bobby, not to think.  _Yes_ , I'm sure. She looked familiar, too. Must've seen Sam and me there before because she knew my name _ **.**_ " He broke off and sneezed. " _Fuuuuck_ …that hurt."

Bobby looked around. Dean dismissively waved a hand. "We're in a diner. It's pepper. It's always pepper." He carefully took a sip of water.

Wait, she knew his name? Dean's story nagged at Bobby's brain. "What'd the clerk say to you?"

Wincing from the cold water on his raw throat, Dean set down his class. "Not much. Like I said, I couldn't even give her an idea of what he might want or even like. It was pathetic, Bobby. I'm just… _*sigh*_."

Bobby didn't have time for another Winchester Self-Pity Party. The second Sam returned, Dean would clam up, and Bobby's info would be lost in a haze of hovering, denial, and feeling like crap. "But what did she  _say_  to you?"

Dean shrugged, sniffling miserably. "I dunno, Bobby. Something about talking to Sam to find out what he likes. No... _wait_. She said to  _reconnect_  with him. Then she gave me a piece of paper with the store's hours on it and told me to come back."

Bobby's mind whirled. "Dean...you said she looked familiar. Where'd you see her before?"

Dean's swollen eyes narrowed. "What's with all the questions?" Then he planted a lewd smile on his face. " _Bobby_ , you sly dog. You lookin' for a little bookroom action?"

Bobby had no comeback for that.

Thankfully, he didn't need one. Dean was simply on a roll.

"I never saw her before. She just looked like the standard old lady who works at gas stations and bookstores."

Bobby blinked, his face wrinkling in confusion. "Old ladies work at gas stations?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah. The woman at that gas station where Sam found the first headline kinda looked like her. Only...different hair, and glasses." He shrugged, muffling another sneeze into his shoulder. "Christ, I can still smell that incense."

Bobby was about to ask another question when Sam plopped into the booth's bench seat, his nose and cheeks bright pink from the cold. "Got it!"

Sounds of lightweight cardboard being ripped filled their little space, followed by pills rattling against a plastic container. "Okay...you need four of these now, then we'll see how you're doing when we're back at Bobby's.

WIthout question, debate, or even a snarky comment, Dean downed the pills, grimacing at the water. Sam turned and flagged down a waitress. "Hi - um...hot tea, please."

"Two. Make that two." Dean wasn't about to be out-brothered. And he wasn't about to complain about  _being_  brothered.

It felt... _good_.

Bobby's jaw shifted side to side as he processed everything Dean said. More concerning was that  _Dean_  couldn't see what he just said. It was possible the curse clouded his judgement or at least his ability to connect the dots...or maybe he was just feeling too miserable to focus. Either way, Bobby needed to get to the bottom of it.

A woman with a service dog walked past their table. Bobby watched both brothers grab a napkin and sneeze in perfect unison, followed by a joint groan.

_Balls_.

Bobby ordered a few quarts of the soup to go, along with some sandwiches. He had a date with some books on witches, and the boys needed to get home.

**xxxxx**

Back at the house, Bobby had them put away the groceries while he headed to his library, Sam's notebook tucked under one arm. Without thinking, he turned on the Christmas lights and began hunting for a couple books.

It wasn't long before Dean joined him, cradling a mug of hot soup. The now familiar hitching breaths began the moment Dean entered the room. Bobby turned in time to watch a semi-panicked Dean try to figure out where to set the mug while preparing for what was looking to be quite a sneeze.

Bobby snatched the mug just before Dean's head snapped forward with a vicious sneeze.

"Impressive."

Another grated against his throat.

Bobby checked his watch.

A third ripped out before he could stop it.

"Sit down."

Nodding and panting, Dean plopped onto the couch, blowing his nose and gesturing for the soup.

"You sure you want this?"

Dean nodded, pointing to his neck. "It's warm…"

Bobby carefully handed over the mug, which Dean sipped gratefully, squeaking thanks. He curled into a ball in the corner of the couch.

Bobby looked from Dean to the tree. His lightbulb clicked. "Tree make you sneeze?"

Nod.

"That counts as pollen?"

Dean rolled his eyes, nodding again.

"Fucking stupid curse, Dean."

Dean gave him a thumbs up.

"Where's Sam?" Bobby asked, crossing  _pollen_  off the list.

"Upstairs, lying down."

"Good. He wasn't looking too steady." Bobby glanced up at Dean. "Speaking of which, why aren't  _you_  in bed?"

Dean paused mid-sip, swallowing. "Thought I'd wake him up. Didn't want to bother him."

Bobby was pretty sure Dean wouldn't be a bother, but he was picking his battles. He turned back to his shelves.

"Whatcha lookin' for?"

Bobby almost missed the question. "Uh...book on witches. I've been doing some thinking and- _there_  they are." He checked the table of contents, dragging his finger down the page until tapping the section he wanted. Pages flipped, more scanning, until, "Dean...the woman in the gas station…"

"Yeah?" Followed by a slurp.

"Did she say anything to you?"

"Uh,  _*sniff*_  told me how much my stuff cost."

Bobby closed his eyes, willing patience. "Anything besides that? Anything that didn't have to do with paying for whatever you bought?"

" _*sniff*_  Um...She heard Sam and me fighting. She asked what we were doing for Christmas, and said that we probably needed to reconnect. Something about relearning to be there for each other. I don't think she liked that we were working on Christmas."

Bobby opened his eyes to stare at Dean. Oblivious to Bobby's incredulity, Dean kept drinking the soup, his eyes closed as the steam rose into his face.

"Dean…"

Dean set down the mug, plucked tissues from a box and blew his nose.

" _Dean!"_

Tissues over his face, Dean looked over. "What?"

Bobby blinked.

Dean blinked back. " _What?!"_

Bobby ran a hand over his forehead, and decided he needed a drink. Taking a seat behind his desk, he poured himself a healthy shot of whiskey. Eyes on his book, he asked, "You don't think it's weird that you met two women who looked similar, and who said the exact same thing to you, while in completely different locations?"

No answer.

"Dean?" Bobby looked up.

Dean wasn't listening. Mouth hanging open, Dean's whole body tensed, as he slowly inhaled. The sneeze left him blinking away tears. Luckily, the mug made it to a table, first. "You say something?"

Bobby sighed, deciding to give up. "No." Then he tilted his head. "Was that sneeze from the tree, too?"

Dean shook his head, blowing his nose once more in hope that it would quell the itching. "Maybe?"

Bobby looked down at the list. "So how do I know which one to cross off? Nothing touched you...so it's gotta be  _no reason_. He looked back up at Dean. "Surprise sneezing is now crossed off the list."

Dean twirled a finger in the air and Bobby returned to the books.

Just then, Sam walked in, feet scuffing the floor just ahead of a thick blanket draped over his shoulders. "Since when do you use scented soap, Bobby?" He sniffled thickly, dropping onto the couch next to Dean.

Bobby's face scrunched in thought. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The towels all smell like a flower shop," Sam grumbled.

Bobby just stared at him a moment before remembering that he  _did_  buy scented dryer sheets a while back. Thinking fast, Bobby straight up lied. "They were on clearance...forgot I even bought them. Sorry about that..."

Sue him, they freshened up the place.

Sam waved him off. "It's fine. I'm just... _yeah_." He sniffled again, tucking his long legs under the blanket. He glanced over at Dean. "Why aren't you in bed?"

Dean looked up. "Why aren't you?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Woke up sneezing, you weren't there, wanted to make sure you were okay."

Dean grunted, picking up his mug. He held it out to Sam. "Want some soup?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "From there?"

Dean slowly blinked, unamused.

Sam congestedly huffed a smile. "I'm good...thanks."

Nodding Dean took a sip, replaced the mug on the table, and burrowed into the corner of the couch.

Bobby kept reading through the books, keeping an ear open for their conversation.

Sam nudged his brother with a foot. "You sound better." The last word cut off a bit as Sam yawned.

Dean shrugged his eyebrows, using one foot to drag an ottoman closer to the couch. "It's settling down. How 'bout you?" Knowing that Sam would need to stretch soon, he jutted his chin at the newly fetched furniture.

Nodding a thanks back, Sam unfolded his legs, setting them on the footrest with a groan. "Feel like crap. The sneezing just… _*sigh*_  I'm done. Everything hurts, now."

"Yeah. What's left for you?"

"I dunno...Bobby?"

Bobby had one ear on the conversation, but not much of his brain.

"Bobby!"

"Huh? What?"

"What's left on the list?"

Bobby shook himself. " _Right_. Um... _oh_ , okay. You both need to be tickled."

Dead silence.

"I mean something has to touch you."

Eyebrows rose.

"Fuck you both, you know what I mean."

Once the collective chuckling died down, Bobby took another drink, and decided to try again. "Sam…"

Sam yawned again. "Yeah, Bobby?"

"When you first saw the newspaper about the snowman case...do you remember the cashier?"

Sam's forehead crinkled in thought. He also burrowed further into the blanket until his head rested against the couch. "No..."

"Well, did anyone talk to you?"

"No...why?"

Bobby sighed, leaning back in his chair, consulting one of his books. "Well, I think I figured out what happened to you two. First off, you probably got cursed by a Hedge Witch. They're known for acting on their own - no covens or anything. They specialize in shaman-like witchcraft, focused on healing, spirit-walking, that sort of thing. Some of them focus on matters of the home and family. So when you two stumbled along, fighting with each other during the holidays, you were kinda ripe for a Hedge Witch to butt in and whammy you with this curse, hoping that you'd heal your relationship." Bobby felt pretty good about himself - it all made sense. He picked up Sam's notebook. "When you think about it, over the course of this curse, you two started...caring for the other one again. I think the witch was that cashier eleven days ago at that gas station, and she checked in with you, Dean at the bookstore. So - "

Bobby was interrupted by a loud snort. Looking up, he sighed. Both brothers were passed out on the couch, mouths open.

"Wellp, apparently hearing about the curse isn't allowed by the curse," he announced to the room. "Gotta wait this out, I guess."

He tapped a pencil against the desk, then pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. Bobby cast a quick glance at the boys before heading to the kitchen, his fingers dialing the phone before he even left the room.

"Hey, Carl - Bobby Singer. How's it going?"

" _Merry Christmas, Bobby! You need something special?"_

"Nah, I'm good. Well, I have some questions…"

" _Shoot."_

Bobby fiddled with a dish rag lying on the counter. "Were you working the book room today? Or was it Carrie or Frank?"

" _Frank was there this morning, I took over around lunchtime. The store's a fucking zoo today. Luckily, the room's pretty quiet. Why?"_

Bobby nodded, leaning against the counter. "Who came in?"

" _Bobby. What's this about?"_

"I'm working a case...my...nephew...came in the store today, around 12:30. Said an old woman was working the counter."

" _Old woman? I'm not the prettiest flower in the garden, Bobby, but I'm not that bad. The only customer in the back room was around 12:15, it was a woman, but she wasn't that old, and she wore glasses."_

"Huh...what was she lookin' for?"

" _Come to think of it, I dunno. I remember her walking into the room and looking around. I think I was doing something...I can't remember...but then she was gone. Time kinda got away from me today...I probably was doing something in the back."_

"Yeah...that's what I was figurin'. Thanks, Carl. Merry Christmas."

" _You too, Bobby!"_

Bobby hung up, staring at the screen before shoving the phone back in his pocket.

So. Rogue witch stalking the Winchesters, and they can't hear anything related to the actual curse.

_Lovely._

Bobby pushed himself off the counter and returned to the library, where the boys still slept. Glancing again at the notebook, Bobby decided to end their torture of the day.

Feeling more than a little ridiculous, Bobby looked around the room for something to brush under their noses. "Fuckin' can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered. He spotted an old quill pen in the corner of a bookshelf. He blew a raspberry at the witch, grabbed the pen, and after a quick look around to really make sure no one was watching, he swept the feather across Dean's nostrils.

Already overly sensitive from the events at the bookstore, it didn't take long for Dean's nose to twitch, followed by a muffled sneeze against his sleeve. Luckily, he didn't wake up.

Dragging a hand over his face, Bobby crept toward Sam, then brushed the feather against  _his_  nose.

Sam's nose wrinkled and unwrinkled before he scrubbed at it with the blanket. Almost growling with embarrassment, Bobby tried again, possibly a little more aggressively to make sure it took. He was  _not_  doing it a third time.

This time, the effect was instantaneous.

Bobby jumped, hand on his heart, the other gripping the pen. He quickly stepped away, trying to look casual in case the boys woke up.

Which they didn't.

_Thank Fucking God_.

Bobby studied the boys on the couch. If the point of this curse was to get them to reconnect, from what he'd seen so far, they definitely reconnected.

That left one question.

Will the curse end on Day 12, or were they stuck dealing with this forever?

**xxxxx**

_Something_  draped over him, easing the shivers wracking his body. He struggled to open his eyes, but the hand carding through his hair had other plans.

"Go back to sleep."

The deep, scratchy voice was one Sam hadn't heard in what felt like forever. That tone - a combination of confidence and reassurance - enveloped Sam in its comfort. Clinging to it with desperation, Sam tried to wake.

He couldn't stand to lose it again. He had to explain. Had to make it stay.

"I  _know_...it's okay. Not going anywhere, I promise. Just go back to sleep, Sammy."

Magic words. Tension melted. Sam slept.

**xxxxx**

Bobby poked his head into their bedroom. "How's he doin'?" he asked, voice low.

With a sigh, Dean sat up, cracking his back in time with his creaking chair. "He's okay. Fever's not high, mostly annoying. He's just…" He paused, brushing hair off Sam's face, reflecting on the rambling. "He's a little anxious. That's all."

Bobby stepped into the room, leaning on the doorframe, arms folded. "Anxious over what? The curse?"

Dean's forehead wrinkled. " _Me_. He's anxious about...me."

_Huh_.

Bobby pushed a little. "Why you?"

Eyes locked on Sam's every movement, Dean murmured. "He actually needs me. Didn't...didn't think he did. But he does. He thought he lost me...or  _will_  lose me."

Despite Dean's insistence that he knew Sam better than anyone, he was the only one who couldn't see Sam's need for his brother...his family.

Something so basic, completely lost in a shuffle of bullshit.

Dean locked hands behind his head, smiling ruefully. "Taking care of Sam  _was_  easy. Taking care of Sam  _now…_ " He shook his head. "I dunno. I'm not...doing a good job. Don't even know if it  _is_  my job anymore."

"Needs change over time, Dean. Sam's not a kid anymore. He doesn't need you to...check that his homework is done, or make sure he ate his vegetables. It's more complicated, sure. But that don't mean he doesn't  _need_  you."

Dean's hands dropped to his lap as he smothered a cough into his sleeve. "Tryin' to catch up to how old he is, you know? If he needs me, I gotta...I gotta figure out how to be there." He huffed a laugh. "Without gettin' in trouble."

Bobby smiled. Changes in relationships were never easy. Bobby didn't have many, not after Karen died. But he understood what Dean was saying. He helped raise these boys. Now they were grown men, still coming to him when they needed a father, but also coming to him when they needed a partner. It was a tough sea to navigate, and mistakes will always be made.

But sometimes, you just had to follow your parenting instinct.

Bobby approached Dean, stopping beside the chair, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I think that need goes both ways, son."

Dean huffed through his mouth, but didn't argue.

Bobby looked Dean over. It was after midnight, and fatigue was wearing heavy around Dean's shoulders. A few hours ago, they shifted to their bedroom from the couch. Sam woke shivering, eyes glassy from a fever. They got him to bed, Dean deciding that watching a 100.3 fever was more important than sleeping himself.

"Didja get him to take some meds?"

Dean shook his head. "He's too out of it. I'm hoping he'll wake in a few hours and take something." He paused mid-sentence with a jaw-popping yawn, scrubbing his face with a weariness usually reserved for 4am.

Bobby nodded, knowing better than to suggest that Dean get rest, too. He slid his hand to the back of Dean's neck, squeezing gently. "You're sporting some heat of your own. Take something. I'm heading to bed. Get me if you need me."

Dean nodded back, reaching up to grip Bobby's wrist. "Thanks."

As Bobby left their room, he wondered whether the curse was a bad thing after all.

**xxxxx**

Dean thought over Bobby's words. How could he know how to parent a twenty-four year old, when he was only twenty-eight?

His face soured. When did Dean judge himself based on practicality or rational thought? He was just supposed to know.

But...when Bobby laid his hand on Dean's neck...Dean felt the pressures of parenting slip away, as  _he_  became the child, needing that reassurance, the guidance that John wasn't always capable of giving.

_I think that need goes both ways, son._

Dean finally admitted with a sigh, "I think so, too…"

**xxxxx**

As Sam woke, a general feeling of  _uncomfortable_  settled over him. He didn't feel good, but it wasn't utter shit, either. More like that gray space between  _icky_  and  _bleh_.

Pulling the fuzzy blanket over his face, he sneezed softly into it, pleased that this time, it didn't grate against his throat or pop his ears.

Small favors.

Eventually, he opened his eyes, blinking against the light streaming through the window. It took all of a second to spot the dutiful older brother, fast asleep in a small wooden chair. Head thrown back, mouth open, arms folded. Dean shivered, jerking his head forward with a soft sneeze of his own, wincing at the movement.

Sam threw off the blanket, awkwardly getting to his feet. "Come on, Dean. Get in bed."

Dean opened his mouth to...protest? Argue? Who knew - he never got out a word, instead pitching forward with another sneeze.

Taking hold of his arm, Sam gently tugged until Dean stood up. Nudging the chair out of their way, Sam navigated Dean to his bed, smiling a little when Dean moaned in relief. He pulled a blanket up to his chin, noticing the pink on Dean's cheeks, the worry lines around his eyes.

"Go to sleep, okay?"

One eye peeled open. Dean mumbled, "Feelin' better?"

Sam studied Dean's face. "Yeah…"

Grunting, Dean nodded his approval before closing his eyes and drifting back to sleep.

**xxxxx**

After going to the bathroom, Sam headed downstairs in hopes of finding Bobby. Blanket around his shoulders, Sam wandered into the library. He was rewarded with the sight of Bobby at his desk, reading through a book. He looked up at Sam's entrance.

"Well, hey there. How're you feeling?"

Sam shrugged his eyebrows, lowering himself onto the couch. "Okay, I guess. Dean fell asleep watching over me, so I'm guessing, what, a fever? Papercut?"

They chuckled.

Bobby shrugged. "Fever. Not bad, but you know, enough to warrant a vigil."

Sam nodded, running his fingers over the plush blanket. "It was kinda...surprising. Didn't expect it."

Bobby leaned back in his chair, cradling a mug of coffee. "Why not? Vigils and Dean go hand in hand." He took a sip, waiting for Sam's reaction. Sam  _was_  the chatty one, after all.

Sam huffed, eyes still on the blanket. "Not lately."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Sam shrugged.

"Sam."

Sighing, Sam plucked at the blanket. "All my life he's taken care of me. Been my dad when dad...wasn't. I'm not a kid anymore, Bobby...but...I'm not sure I know how to  _not_  be a kid with him. Stanford was…" He sighed again. "I mean, I did fine on my own, you know? Grew up. But I get with him and...everything changes. He doesn't need a kid hanging on him, and I don't wanna  _be_  a kid with him, I want us to be...like...friends...and brothers. Not dad and son. But sometimes...I dunno. I guess I'm not that good at it. Can't seem to make up my mind about how I want us to be."

Bobby took a chance. "Your needs changed, Sam. And I bet his have, too. Plus, what you need probably depends on what's going on. Maybe you two just need some time to sort it out. If," he added quickly, "you want to."

Sam took a measured breath. "Yeah...it's Christmas Eve, though."

"So?"

"So." Sam blinked. "I dunno."

The lights on the tree winked at them. Finally Bobby asked, "Hungry?"

"Yeah...actually."

"Come on. I'll heat up some of that soup."

**xxxxx**

Warm soup opened Sam's sinuses. He moved through a quarter box of Kleenex just during lunch. After a string of sneezes that left him a little breathless, he glanced over at Bobby. "This feels...different."

Bobby kept neutral. "Whatcha mean?"

Sam tossed the tissues into the garbage. "Doesn't feel like the curse anymore."

"Yeah? Still sounds like it."

Sam laughed a little. "I know. Just...now it feels like - "

"We're sick."

Bobby and Sam turned at Dean's voice. He shuffled over, plopping into a chair with a grunt. He dragged a hand down his face. "Fevers weren't part of the curse." He zipped up his sweatshirt. "Or chills, or non-sneezing related headaches - "

"Or coughing, or running noses - "

"But whining was," Bobby finished, getting up to pour Dean a bowl of soup. "Your stress levels were pretty high - you probably ran yourselves into the ground over the hunt and the curse." He set a steaming bowl in front of Dean, along with a spoon. "Eat up. If you're good, we'll make cookies later."

Sam's eyes grew. "Seriously?"

"No, not seriously. But we bought some, so we'll settle for just eating them." Bobby waited until Dean picked up the spoon and took a mouthful of broth. "Will you two be okay for a few minutes? Gonna check on some stuff."

Double bitchface.

_Nice_.

"Be right back."

**xxxxx**

Bobby did all the research he could on this curse. It was now just a matter of waiting. Since mentioning the curse brought all sorts of curse-induced deflection, he decided to lay low and observe. See what was what before thinking about whether he needed to take steps to break it.

Behind him, Dean sneezed into a napkin. Sam blessed him. Neither asked or listed what caused it. Good sign? Bobby wasn't sure.

This notion of a Christmas gift really bugged them both. Sam's iPad was nestled in Bobby's desk drawer, and the tires were being delivered the day after Christmas. But they each felt the need to give each other something...when a  _thing_  wasn't what they needed.

The day passed quietly. Snow fell gently, and the wind picked up, but it was warm inside. Bobby worked at his desk. The boys watched TV, huddled under blankets, cradling tissue boxes.

The sneezing actually slowed down to an occasional outburst. The stream was steady, but not frantic or forced. More like a natural soundtrack to their afternoon. Every time they sneezed, Bobby looked around to see what may have caused it. But it was just them...on the couch...looking under the weather.

If a cold was the cause of every sneeze at this point…

Bobby scratched his chin.

" _Hp'Kshhchh!"_

"Bless you, Sam."

" _Heh'Krshhchh!"_

Bobby shook his head. "Bless you,  _Dean_."

Dean sniffled into some tissues, followed by a cough. Sam looked over. "Think you need more Advil?"

Dean considered it, blowing his nose tiredly. "Yeah, probably. You?"

Sam laughed a little. "Yeah...that's why I asked. Hold on, I'll get it." He hauled himself upright and padded to the kitchen where the Advil sat waiting on a counter.

He came back, Advil in one hand, the other under his nose, "How man... _hih_...many... _hehhhh_...do... _hhhhhih_... _Hiiiiiihhhhhh'tschchhhyuu!_ Do-you-want- _H'chh! H'chht! *sniff* Jesus!"_  Sam leaned against an armchair, catching his breath.

Eyebrows raised, Dean tossed over a box of Kleenex, which Sam barely caught because he was already in the throes of another fit. " _Hehhhh-Hp'TSCHHHCHHYUUuu!_  Whoa...I -  _Hih'chh! Heh'shht! "_  Face buried in Kleenex, Sam waited a few seconds before tossing Dean the bottle.

"Bless you!" Dean said, catching the bottle even though it was thrown a little erratically.

Sam waved him off, mouth already open again. "Not...not done.  _H'chh! *sniff*_ And you need water. Hold...holdon _H'chht! Hih'chh!"_

Dean protested, "Sam…"

Again, Sam waved him off, already heading back to the kitchen, head rearing back. " _Ehhhh-TSCHHCHHYUuuu!_  I'b already up. It's oooo- _Hhhhhh-HESCHCHYuuu!_ -kay."

Dean gave Bobby a slightly alarmed look. Bobby shrugged. "He ain't dyin, Dean, just sneezin'. Been doing that for days."

A cabinet opened, water ran, Sam returned. No sneezing. Dean was just starting to feel better about it when, " _H'shh!"_  burst out of his brother as he dropped back on the couch.

Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam blew his nose, then nodded. "Yeah, okay. Think...think I'b done ndow." He flashed a grin, shrugging his shoulders.

Dean chuckled as he opened the bottle, shaking out a few pills for himself and some for Sam.

Pills consumed (they shared the glass...like it mattered…), they settled back to watch another movie.

During a commercial break, the local station gave a weather update for the area and the country in general. Dean nudged Sam with his foot. "We've never been to Vegas together. Did you know that? I hunted there twice with Dad, but we've never gone."

Sam tilted his head, gears turning. "No, we haven't."

Dean reached for some Kleenex, sniffling. "We should go. I mean, I know you're not...uh…" He scrubbed at his nose. " _*sniff*_  into the whole gam...gambling... _hih_...thiiiii- _hih-Hhhh-TSHCHuh!_  Gambling thing...but there's other stuff there." He blew his nose. "I dunno. Shows and kickass restaurants -  _T'shht! Hesch! Chhtt! Jesus!_ "

Sam's eyes widened. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just -  _K'Schh!_ Nose is going nuts  _H'shh! H'echh!"_  More Kleenex. "Stiiii- _hhhhih_ \- still...I thiiii-wait,  _Hhh-hih-hiiihhh-etTSCHEW! Hiiiihhh-TSCHHCHHYUuuu!_  Fuck -" He laughed. "Good think I'b dot askin' you od a date... _Itschchch! Heh-TschshhYuuu!"_  He shivered with each sneeze.

"Done?" Sam asked, his face a combination of amusement and concern.

Dean held up a finger, breathing carefully. "Yeah." Then he rocked forward. " _HETSCHHH!_ " He looked up. "Well. Now."

Settling back,  _Sam_  nudged  _Dean_. "Hey...Vegas sounds awesome."

Dean's face lit up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Dean nodded. "Alright then. When we kick this cold, we'll head out."

"Sure...sounds good."

**xxxxx**

Bobby said nothing...just watched that whole scene unfold in front of him. The sneezing was ridiculous. He was alarmed when Sam started up. But then he counted.

Twelve. Sam's fit had twelve sneezes.

So he waited.

Sure enough, Dean's did, too.

This one time, a witch did something good.

He looked over at his boys, laughing together on the couch at some stupid movie.

"Hey, Bobby - close that book and get over here. It's a creature movie marathon. We can count all the mistakes."

How could he refuse an offer like that?

**-End-**

_**Sidenote: The bookstore and the diner are real places in Sioux Falls. I took liberties with their descriptions and such, but they do really exist. Thanks so much for reading!** _


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